I reached into my purse and placed a set of keys onto the table. “These are the condo keys.”
David looked down, briefly surprised, then leaned back with a smug expression. “Good. At least you understand how this works.”
I ignored him and pulled out two navy blue passports.
“The children’s visas were approved last week,” I said.
David frowned. “What visas?”
“I’m taking Aiden and Chloe to London.”
The room fell completely silent.
Megan reacted first. “You’re what?”
I met David’s eyes. “I’m taking my children to London.”
David let out a short, cold laugh. “You can’t even afford your own legal fees, Catherine. How exactly are you taking two kids overseas?”
“Don’t concern yourself with my finances.”
“Those are my children,” he snapped.
“And yet you just signed paperwork giving me permission to take them.”
His mouth opened, then closed again.
For the first time that morning, uncertainty crossed his face.
Not regret. Not heartbreak.
Just uncertainty.
I stood and picked up my bag. “You said you were in a hurry. Your mistress is waiting.”
His expression darkened. “Don’t start pretending you’re proud now. You lost.”
I bent down and lifted my daughter, Chloe, onto my hip. She had been coloring quietly in the reception area with the solemn obedience children learn when adults disappoint them too often. My son, Aiden, walked over and slipped his hand into mine.
Then, as if heaven itself had arranged the timing, a black Mercedes SUV pulled up outside the entrance.
The driver stepped out, opened the rear passenger door, and asked, “Ms. Harlow, are you ready?”
David stared at the vehicle, then back at me. “What is this?”
I turned toward him one final time.
What I wanted to say was: This is what happens when the woman you underestimated finally stops begging for scraps.
What I actually said was, “From this moment on, the kids and I won’t interfere with your new life.”
I walked out before he could respond.
Behind me, I heard Megan hiss, “She’s bluffing.”
But I was not bluffing. I had not been bluffing for weeks.
The driver handed me a large envelope the moment I got inside. “Mr. Mercer asked me to give this to you personally.”
I opened it as the car merged into traffic. Inside were copies of bank transfers, property documents, and photographs. In one picture, David stood beside Allison—his twenty-six-year-old mistress—inside a real estate office, both of them smiling over paperwork for a luxury condo.
The highlighted source of the down payment caught my eye.
It came from an account connected to the company David had insisted was “struggling.”
Another page revealed something even worse: money transferred from shared marital assets into shell accounts, then funneled into hidden property purchases under allied LLCs.
My uncle Nick had been right.
David had not only cheated on me.
He had quietly built an entirely new life while my money still clung beneath his fingernails.
Aiden leaned closer. “Mom?”
