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Wife's Revenge After Car Destruction Novel Cover

Wife's Revenge After Car Destruction

The familiar scent of my grandmother Eleanor's lavender tea still lingered on my coat as I pulled into our driveway, my heart lighter than it had been in months. Our afternoon together had been a balm to my soul—her gentle wisdom about finding strength in difficult times, her knowing glances when I'd mentioned Cade's recent distance. She hadn't pressed for details, but her weathered hands had covered mine with understanding warmth. I stepped out of my car, already planning to tell Cade about grandmother's invitation for us to join her for Sunday dinner next week. Perhaps it would be a chance to reconnect, to bridge whatever chasm had grown between us these past months. The garage door was open. That was strange. Cade never left it open, especially not in the evening. I walked toward it, my heels clicking against the concrete driveway, and froze. My father's vintage Aston Martin—his pride and joy, the car he'd lovingly restored by hand and left to me as his final gift—lay in ruins.
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Chapter 3

The mahogany conference table at Patterson & Associates gleamed under the afternoon light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. I sat across from James Patterson, my posture perfect, my smile carefully calibrated to convey just the right amount of concern without appearing desperate.

"James, I wanted to discuss the Kennedy family's position regarding our ongoing partnerships." I folded my hands in my lap, the gesture appearing demure while my mind calculated each word with surgical precision.

James leaned forward, his weathered face creasing with interest. He'd been doing business with both our families for over two decades—long enough to read between the lines when a Kennedy spoke in measured tones.

"Of course, Alora. Your family's support has been invaluable to several ventures, particularly with Armstrong Industries."

"That's precisely what concerns us." I let a shadow of uncertainty cross my features. "My grandmother has been reviewing our portfolio, and she's expressed some... reservations about the stability of certain partnerships. Particularly those where personal complications might affect professional judgment."

The silence stretched between us like a taut wire. James's pen tapped against his leather portfolio—once, twice, three times.

"Personal complications?"

"I'm sure you understand the delicate nature of business relationships, James. When personal lives become... entangled with professional responsibilities, it can create liability issues. The Kennedy family has always prioritized stability and discretion in our partnerships."

I watched understanding dawn in his eyes. In our world, whispers traveled faster than wire transfers, and James had undoubtedly heard rumors about Cade's increasingly public displays with his assistant.

"I see." He set his pen down carefully. "And the Kennedy family's concerns extend to all current arrangements with Armstrong Industries?"

"We're simply being cautious. Reevaluating our exposure." I stood, smoothing my skirt with practiced elegance. "I trust you'll handle this information with your usual discretion."

As I left his office, I caught sight of James already reaching for his phone. By evening, three more business partners would receive similar visits from me, each conversation a carefully placed domino in the chain reaction I was orchestrating.

* * *

That night, I found Cade in his home office, surrounded by the trappings of success he'd built on Kennedy family connections. Awards lined the walls—achievements that bore my family's fingerprints in ways he'd long forgotten. The irony wasn't lost on me as I knocked on the doorframe.

"We need to talk."

He didn't look up from his laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "Can it wait? I'm reviewing contracts for the Morrison deal."

"No, it can't." I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

Finally, he glanced up, irritation flickering across his features. "What's so urgent that it can't wait until—"

I placed the manila envelope on his desk, directly over his keyboard, forcing him to acknowledge its presence.

"Divorce papers."

The words hung in the air like smoke. Cade stared at the envelope as if it might bite him, then let out a short, dismissive laugh.

"You're joking."

"I've never been more serious in my life."

He pushed the envelope aside without opening it, his attention already drifting back to his screen. "Alora, I know you're upset about the car, but this is ridiculous. You're being dramatic."

His phone buzzed. Leia's name flashed on the screen.

"One moment," he said, answering immediately. "Leia? Did you get the Morrison files I sent?... Perfect. You're brilliant, as always... No, I can't talk long. Alora's having one of her episodes."

Something cold and sharp crystallized in my chest as I watched him dismiss our marriage as an "episode" while cooing into the phone with another woman. When he finally hung up, his expression was almost bored.

"Look, I get it. You're feeling neglected, and the car thing was unfortunate. But divorce? Come on, Alora. We both know you don't have the spine for something that drastic."

He leaned back in his leather chair, supremely confident in his assessment of me. "Besides, what would you do without me? You've never worked a day in your life. This marriage is the only thing giving your existence any meaning."

I smiled then—a serene expression that didn't reach my eyes. "You're right about one thing, Cade. This conversation is over."

As I turned to leave, he called after me with casual arrogance. "Just throw those papers away, Alora. We both know you'll get over this little tantrum by morning."

* * *

The next morning, I sat in my study with a cup of Eleanor's lavender tea, watching the sunrise paint the sky in shades of pink and gold. My laptop was open to several banking websites, each tab representing a different account, a different lifeline I was about to sever.

I started with the premium credit cards—the black American Express that had never been declined, the platinum Visa he used for his expensive lunches with Leia. Each cancellation required only a few clicks, my authority as joint account holder making the process remarkably simple.

Next came the joint accounts. Decades of Kennedy family money, carefully invested and maintained, now frozen with the efficiency of someone who'd spent years learning the intricacies of wealth management from the best.

My phone rang as I submitted the final authorization. Cade's name flashed on the screen.

"Alora, there's some kind of banking error. My cards aren't working, and I can't access our accounts. Can you call them and sort this out?"

His voice carried the casual expectation of someone who'd never doubted that his problems would be solved by others.

"I'm sure it will resolve itself," I said sweetly. "These things usually do."

I hung up before he could respond, then turned back to my laptop. There were still several more dominoes to topple, and I intended to savor each one falling in perfect sequence.

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