My Husband Mocked Our Marriage at a Luxury Dinner — I Walked Out and Built a Fortune He Envied
I overheard my husband tell his friends, “This marriage is a joke. She’s not on my level. Won’t last another year.”
They all laughed.
I walked in smiling.
“Why wait? Let’s divorce today.”
I left.
That night, his best friend texted me something that changed everything.
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You should have seen Dererick’s face drain of color faster than our joint bank account during his last business trip to Vegas. His three buddies, Jake, Tom, and Steve, suddenly found their poker chips absolutely fascinating. The silence stretched so long I could practically hear Dererick’s brain shortcircuiting.
“Clare, honey,” Derek stammered, his voice climbing two octaves. “You’re taking that completely out of context.”
“Really?” I set my mug down with deliberate precision because it sounded pretty clear from where I was standing. Our marriage is a joke. I’m beneath you and you’re already planning our expiration date.
Jake Morrison, Derek’s best friend since college, cleared his throat.
“Maybe we should head out, guys.”
“Oh, no,” I said sweetly, blocking the exit. “Don’t leave on my account. I was just about to tell Derek how I completely agree with him.”
Dererick’s face went from pale to green.
“Claire, let’s discuss this privately.”
“Why? You didn’t seem to need privacy 5 minutes ago.”
I turned to his friends with my most charming hostess smile. “Did you know Derek thinks I’m too stupid to handle our finances? That’s why he insists on managing everything himself.”
Tom shifted uncomfortably. “We should really go.”
“But here’s the funny thing,” I continued, my voice still honey, but with a sharp edge that could cut glass. “I’ve been handling my own investments for years. Separate account, different bank.” Funny how someone beneath his level managed to turn 60,000 into almost 400,000.
The poker chips clattered as Steve’s hands trembled. Derek looked like he’d been hit by a truck. You see, gentlemen, while Dererick’s been playing poker and taking business trips, I’ve been playing the stock market. Turns out I’m pretty good at spotting winning hands.
Derek found his voice. “You never told me about any investments,”
“Just like you never told me about a lot of things, sweetheart.”
I picked up my coffee mug and headed toward the stairs.
“I’ll be in touch with my lawyer tomorrow. Try not to lose too much money tonight.”
As I climbed the stairs, I heard frantic whispers and chairs scraping. The front door slammed three times in quick succession.
Dererick’s footsteps thundered up behind me.
“Clare, wait. We need to talk about this.”
I paused at our bedroom door. Talk like how you talked about me downstairs or like how you talked to whatever woman you’ve been texting at midnight.
His face went white again.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about finding a new place to live, Derek, because you’re right about one thing. This marriage is a joke. The punchline is that I was stupid enough to think it was real.”
I closed the bedroom door and locked it, leaving him standing in the hallway. My hands were shaking with adrenaline, but underneath the hurt and anger, I felt something. I hadn’t experienced in years. Freedom.
My phone buzzed around midnight. A text from Jake Morrison.
“Claire, we need to talk. There’s something about Derek you need to know. Can you meet me tomorrow? Coffee shop on Main Street, 10 a.m. Trust me, this is important.”
I stared at the message for a long time. Jake had been Dererick’s friend for 30 years. If he was reaching out to me after tonight’s disaster, whatever he wanted to tell me was either very good or very bad. Something told me it wasn’t going to be good news.
I barely slept. And every time I dozed off, I heard Dererick’s voice calling our marriage a joke. By morning, he was gone, probably to his office, or maybe to whatever woman had been receiving those midnight texts. Part of me hoped he’d come crawling back with flowers and apologies. The smarter part of me was already mentally dividing our assets.
The coffee shop on Main Street was one of those trendy places with exposed brick walls and baristas who looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine. I spotted Jake immediately, hunched over a corner table with two steaming mugs in front of him. He looked like he’d slept about as well as I had.
“Clare.” He stood up as I approached, his usual easy smile replaced by something that looked almost guilty.
“Thanks for coming, Jake.” I sat across from him, noting how he couldn’t quite meet my eyes. “This better be good because I have a lawyer’s appointment at noon.”
He pushed one of the mugs toward me.
“Colombian dark roast, splash of cream. Still your favorite?”
The fact that he remembered my coffee order after all these years should have been sweet. Instead, it felt ominous.
“Cut to the chase, Jake. What do you want to tell me about Derek?”
Jake ran his hands through his hair. A nervous habit I remembered from when we all hung out together in the early days of my marriage. Back when I thought Dererick’s friends were my friends, too.
“Last night after you went upstairs and Dererick kicked us out, he called me. He was panicking about the divorce. About you finding out about the investment account.”
Jake’s eyes finally met mine.
“Claire, he’s been tracking your finances for years.”
The coffee mug grew heavy in my hands.
“What do you mean tracking?”
“He hired a private investigator 18 months ago. Professional financial background checks, monitoring your spending patterns, even checking your credit reports.”
I set the mug down harder than necessary.
“That’s illegal.”
“Technically, as your spouse, he has access to most of that information. But Claire, it gets worse.”
Of course, it did because apparently my life was turning into one of those soap operas my mother used to watch, where every revelation was more ridiculous than the last.
“How much worse?”
Jake pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages.
“Dererick’s been planning to divorce you for over two years, but he wanted to make sure he could claim as much of your assets as possible first.”
The coffee shop suddenly felt too warm.
“Show me.”
He hesitated, then turned his phone toward me. A text conversation between Derek and Jake, dated 6 months ago.
“Derek: found Claire’s investment account. She’s got almost 300K. Need to figure out how to get half of that before I file.
Jake: Dude, that’s her money. She earned it.
Derek: we’re married. Community property, but I need to time this right.”
I scrolled up, finding months of similar conversations—Derek discussing my work schedule, my spending habits, even my monthly cycle to predict when I’d be emotional and easier to manipulate.
“Why are you showing me this?” My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
“Because after last night, I realized I’ve been enabling him. I never spoke up when he talked about you like you were a business transaction. I just laughed along because that’s what guys do, right?”
Right. The word tasted bitter.
“But watching your face last night when you heard what he said…” Jake shook his head. “You deserved better from all of us, especially from me.”
I looked at this man who’d been in my life for 15 years, who’d been Derek’s best man at our wedding, who’d sat at my dinner table hundreds of times.
“How long have you known what kind of person he really is?”
“Honestly, years. But I told myself it wasn’t my business. That maybe he was just venting or that you two would work it out.”
“And the other women.”
Jake’s face went pale.
“Claire, don’t you dare protect him now. If you’re feeling guilty enough to show me these texts, then tell me everything.”
He was quiet for so long, I thought he might not answer. Finally, he pulled up another message thread.
“There have been three that I know of. The first one was about four years ago. A woman from his office that lasted about 6 months.”
Four years ago when Derek started working late and taking weekend business trips, when he suddenly became passionate about networking events I wasn’t invited to.
“The second one was 2 years ago. Someone he met at that conference in Chicago.”
The conference where he came home with a new cologne and suddenly developed an interest in working out.
“And the current one, her name is Melissa. She’s 28. Works at that new marketing firm downtown.”
Twenty-eight. I was 52. Of course, she was 28.
“How long?”
“About 8 months.”
I did the math. Eight months ago was when Derek started insisting we needed to live more independently and spend less time together. When he suggested I take up new hobbies and find myself.
“Clareire, there’s something else.”
I laughed. A sound that had nothing to do with humor.
“Of course there is.”
“Dererick’s been telling people, including Melissa, that you’re mentally unstable, that you’ve been having memory problems and making irrational financial decisions.”
The world tilted sideways.
“What?”
“He’s been setting up a case to challenge your competency. If he can prove you’re not mentally fit to handle your own finances, he could gain control of everything.”
My hands were shaking so badly, I had to clasp them together.
“Jake, this isn’t just divorce. This is financial abuse, elder abuse, technically since you’re over 50, and possibly fraud.”
I stared at him. This man who’d sat at my Christmas table and laughed at my jokes and acted like my friend while knowing my husband was systematically planning to destroy my life.
“Why now? Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because yesterday I found out he’s planning to have you committed.”
The words “Have you committed?” hit me like a physical blow. I gripped the edge of the table so hard my knuckles went white.
“What did you just say?”
Jake’s face was grim.
“Dererick’s been meeting with a lawyer who specializes in conservatorship cases. He wants to have you declared mentally incompetent so he can take control of all your assets.”
“Based on what evidence?”
“That’s the sick part. He’s been documenting everything for months. Every time you forget where you put your keys, every time you have to ask him to repeat something, every time you seem tired or stressed, he’s been writing it down.”
I thought about all those times Dererick had asked me if I was feeling okay, if I was sure I remembered something correctly. If I wanted him to handle some task because I seemed overwhelmed. I thought he was being caring.
“There’s a whole folder on his computer labeled ‘Clare documentation.’ Screenshots of text conversations where you seemed confused. Photos of grocery lists you wrote twice. Even recordings of phone calls where you sounded tired.”
“He’s been recording me.”
“Phone calls only. Apparently, it’s legal as long as one party consents. And since he’s the one making the recordings…”
I felt sick.
“How do you know all this?”
Jake looked ashamed.
“Because he showed me last month when he was drunk after poker night. He pulled out his laptop and walked me through his entire plan. He was proud of it, Clare. He called it his insurance policy.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I told myself it was just drunk talk, that he’d never actually go through with it.”
“But now you think he will?”
“After seeing how you handled yourself last night and knowing about your investment account, I think he’s going to accelerate the timeline.”
I pulled out my phone and started typing notes.
“I need specifics. Dates, times, names of lawyers.”
Jake looked surprised.
“You’re not falling apart.”
“Falling apart comes later. Right now, I’m gathering intelligence.”
I looked up from my phone.
“Jake, I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“I need you to keep being Derek’s friend. Keep playing poker with him. Keep listening to his plans, but I need you to tell me everything.”
“You want me to spy on him?”
“I want you to help me protect myself from a man who’s been planning to steal my life savings and have me locked away.”
My voice was still unless you think that’s too much to ask. Jake shook his head quickly.
“No, you’re right. I should have stopped this months ago.”
“Yes, you should have, but we can’t change that now.” I leaned forward. “What I can change is making sure Derek doesn’t destroy me.”
“What are you going to do?”
I smiled and it wasn’t a nice smile.
“I’m going to do what Dererick’s been doing to me. Document everything. But unlike Derek, I’m actually going to find evidence of real crimes.”
“What kind of crimes?”
“Well, for starters, accessing my credit reports without permission is identity theft. Recording phone calls without telling me might be legal, but using those recordings to build a false case for incompetency could be fraud. And if he’s been moving money around to hide it from me…”
“You think he’s hiding money?”
“Jake, my husband makes 80,000 a year. I make 65. We live in a house worth 400,000 and drive cars that are almost paid off. Our expenses shouldn’t be more than 5,000 a month, but somehow we never have any money left over.”
“Maybe he’s just bad with money.”
I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app.
“I’ve been tracking our joint account for the past year. Every month, Derek transfers exactly $3,000 to an account I don’t have access to. When I ask about it, he says it’s for taxes and retirement.”
“That doesn’t sound unreasonable.”
“Except our taxes are automatically deducted from our paychecks and our retirement contributions are handled through our employers.”
I showed him the screen.
“$36,000 in the past year transferred to an account at a bank where we don’t have any other accounts.”
Jake stared at the numbers.
“Holy—”
“Language, Jake.” I grinned at him, feeling more like myself than I had in years. “But yes, holy indeed.”
“So, what’s your plan?”
“First, I’m moving my investment money to a new bank today. Then, I’m hiring my own private investigator to find out where that 36,000 went. Then, I’m going to document every lie Dererick’s told me for the past 5 years. And then—and then I’m going to make sure that when we go to divorce court, Dererick’s the one who looks mentally incompetent.”
Jake was quiet for a moment.
“Claire, you’re kind of scary when you’re angry.”
“Good. Dererick’s been underestimating me for 15 years. Time to show him exactly how wrong he’s been.”
My phone buzzed with a text from Derek.
“Where are you? We need to talk about last night.”
I showed the message to Jake.
“Should I respond?”
“What would the old Clare do?”
“Apologize for embarrassing him and suggest couples counseling.”
“And what’s the new Clare going to do?”
I typed back.
“I’m busy. My lawyer says I shouldn’t discuss anything with you without legal representation present.”
Dererick’s response came immediately.
“Lawyer? Claire, don’t be ridiculous. We can work this out.”
I typed,
“Like you worked out those three affairs,”
and hit send before I could change my mind. My phone started ringing immediately. Derek’s name flashed on the screen.
“Answer it,” Jake said, “but put it on speaker.”
I accepted the call.
“Hello, Derek.”
“What the hell are you talking about, affairs? Who’s been filling your head with nonsense?”
“Nobody needed to fill my head with anything. I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”
“Claire, you’re being paranoid. This is exactly what I’ve been worried about. You’re not thinking clearly.”
I looked at Jake, who nodded grimly already. Dererick was starting to plant the seeds of the incompetency narrative.
“I’m thinking more clearly than I have in years,” I said. “Clear enough to know that our marriage has been over for a long time. I just didn’t realize it was a joke.”
“Don’t throw away 15 years because you’re having some kind of emotional breakdown.”
“The only thing breaking down is your house of lies. Derek, enjoy your evening. I won’t be home.”
I hung up and turned to Jake.
“How’d I do?”
“Like I said, scary. I’m starting to feel sorry for Derek.”
“Don’t. He made his choices.” I gathered my purse and stood up. “Now I’m making mine.”
“Where are you going?”
“To open a new bank account, hire a private investigator, and then to my sister’s house in Portland. I need somewhere safe to plan my next move.”
“What if Dererick tries to have you committed while you’re gone?”
I smiled.
“Let him try. Unlike Derek, when I document things, I actually have evidence.”
As I walked out of the coffee shop, I felt lighter than I had in years. Derek thought I was a joke. Time to show him the punchline.
My sister Anna’s house in Portland was exactly what I needed. A safe place where I could think clearly without Dererick’s voice in my head telling me I was being irrational. Anna, bless her, took one look at my face when I showed up on her doorstep and immediately poured two glasses of wine without asking any questions.
“So,” she said, settling into her favorite armchair, “what did the bastard do now?”
I’d given Anna an abbreviated version of events, but she’d known Derek almost as long as I had. She’d never liked him, though she’d been polite enough to keep her opinions mostly to herself over the years.
“He called our marriage a joke in front of his friends. He’s been planning to divorce me for 2 years while hiding money. And apparently, he wants to have me declared mentally incompetent so he can steal my assets.”
Anna nearly choked on her wine.
“I’m sorry. What was that last part?”
“According to Jake, Dererick’s been building a case to have me committed. Documenting every time I seem tired or forgetful, recording phone calls, the whole 9 yards.”
“That’s not just divorce, Clare. That’s criminal.”
“I know. Which is why I hired a private investigator this afternoon.”
Anna raised her eyebrows.
“Look at you being all proactive and badass.”
“His name is Marcus Reed. Former police detective, specializes in financial fraud cases. I gave him Derek’s social security number, our banking information, and everything Jake told me this morning.”
“How much is this going to cost?”
“2,000 upfront, plus expenses. It’s worth it if he can find where Dererick’s been hiding money.”
Anna was quiet for a moment.
“Clareire, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me how bad things had gotten?”
I stared into my wine glass, trying to find the right words.
“Because admitting it would have meant admitting I’d wasted 15 years of my life on someone who didn’t love me.”
“Or it would have meant admitting you deserved better.”
“Same thing, isn’t it?”
My phone rang, Derek calling for the fifth time since I’d left the coffee shop. I’d been letting it go to voicemail, but Anna gestured for me to answer.
“Put it on speaker,” she whispered. “I want to hear what kind of manipulation tactics he’s using.”
I answered the call.
“What do you want, Derek?”
“Clare. Thank God. Where are you? I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m fine. What do you want?”
“I want to apologize for last night. What I said was wrong and I hurt you. But running away isn’t the solution.”
“I didn’t run away. I left. There’s a difference.”
“Claire, I know you’re upset, but you’re not thinking clearly. This whole divorce threat, hiring a lawyer, it’s not like you.”
Anna made a face and gestured at the phone. I could see what she meant. Every sentence Derek spoke was designed to make me question my own judgment.
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“I know you better than anyone. And I know when you’re making decisions based on emotion instead of logic.”
“Like the logical decision to have three affairs.”
There was a long pause.
“Who told you that?”
“Does it matter? Is it true?”
“Claire, marriages are complicated. Sometimes people make mistakes.”
“Mistakes? Derek, you had multiple relationships over several years. That’s not a mistake. That’s a pattern.”
“You’re twisting things around, making them sound worse than they are.”
Anna stood up and started pacing, clearly frustrated with Dererick’s refusal to take responsibility.
“How exactly am I twisting this around?”
“You’re… you’re not yourself lately, Claire. I’ve been worried about you for months. The forgetfulness, the confusion, the way you’ve been handling money—”
“The way I’ve been handling money. You mean the way I turned 60,000 into 400,000 while you’ve been secretly transferring 3,000 a month to god knows where?”
Silence.
“Derek, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bank records don’t lie, Derek. Unlike husbands.”
“Claire, I think you should see someone, a professional. These paranoid thoughts, this obsession with money.”
Anna grabbed a notepad and wrote, “He’s gaslighting you” in large letters.
“I’m not paranoid, Derek. I’m informed, and tomorrow I’m going to be even more informed when my private investigator starts digging into your finances.”
“You hired a private investigator?” Derek’s voice climbed an octave. “Claire, this is insane. You’re proving my point about your mental state.”
“My mental state is just fine. It’s your honesty that’s in question.”
“I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”
“I’m not telling you that.”
“Claire, you’re my wife. You can’t just disappear.”
“Watch me.”
I hung up and looked at Anna.
“Well, he’s definitely following a script.”
“Every response was designed to make you doubt yourself.” Anna sat back down. “But here’s what I don’t understand. If he wants to divorce you anyway, why is he fighting so hard to get you back?”
“Because if I file first, I’m the one in control. If he can convince me to come home and then have me committed, he gets everything without a messy divorce.”
“That’s actually brilliant. Evil, but brilliant.”
My phone buzzed with a text.
“Claire, I know you’re at Anna’s. I’m driving up there tonight. We’re going to work this out.”
Anna read the message over my shoulder.
“How does he know you’re here?”
“Probably the same way he’s been tracking my credit reports and bank accounts.”
I felt a chill.
“Anna, what if he’s been monitoring my phone? Can he do that?”
“If we share a phone plan, he might have access to location services.”
I powered off my phone completely.
“I’m being paranoid now, aren’t I?”
“After everything you’ve told me? Not paranoid enough.”
Anna went to her window and peeked through the curtains.
“It’s a three-hour drive from your house to mine. If he left right after you hung up, he’ll be here around 9.”
I looked at the clock. It was just past 6.
“I need to leave.”
“Where will you go?”
“A hotel somewhere. He can’t find me.”
I started gathering my things.
“Anna, if Dererick shows up here, don’t tell him anything.”
“What if he gets aggressive?”
“Call the police. Tell them your sister is going through a contested divorce and her aranged husband is harassing family members.”
Anna hugged me tightly.
“Clareire, be careful. If Dererick’s desperate enough to plan having you committed, there’s no telling what else he might do.”
“I know. That’s why I’m staying one step ahead of him.”
As I drove away from Anna’s house, I realized that for the first time in years, I wasn’t afraid of Dererick’s anger or disappointment. I was afraid of what he might do, which was entirely different. The old Clare would have gone home and apologized. The new Clare was checking into a hotel under an assumed name and planning her counterattack. Derek wanted to play games—fine—but he was about to learn that I’d gotten very good at playing to win.
The Hampton Inn on the outskirts of Portland felt like a fortress. I’d paid cash, used Anna’s maiden name, and parked my car three blocks away. Maybe I was being paranoid, but after 15 years of marriage to Derek, I was learning that paranoia might just be good judgment.
My phone had been off for 6 hours. And when I finally powered it back on, the flood of notifications was staggering. Fourteen missed calls from Derek, seven from Jake, three from numbers I didn’t recognize, and 22 text messages ranging from concerned to furious to what could only be described as manipulative masterpieces.
“Derek: Claire, please call me. I’m worried about you.
Derek: I went to Anna’s, but you’d already left. Where are you staying? I just want to make sure you’re safe.
Derek: This isn’t like you. Please let me help you through whatever you’re going through.
Derek: I talked to Dr. Peterson. He thinks you might be having some kind of breakdown. These delusions about affairs and hidden money.”
I paused at that last one. Dr. Peterson was our family physician. Dererick had called our doctor and told him I was having delusions.
“Jake: Claire, call me. Dererick’s freaking out and saying you’ve disappeared. He’s talking about filing a missing person report.
Jake: Dererick called me three times tonight. He’s convinced you’re having some kind of mental health crisis. I didn’t tell him anything, but he’s really worked up.
Jake: Call me as soon as you get this. There’s something else you need to know.”
That last message from Jake had been sent 20 minutes ago. I called him immediately.
“Claire, thank God. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. What did you need to tell me?”
“Derek went to your house tonight with Tom and Steve. He told them you’d been acting erratically for months and he was worried you might hurt yourself.”
“He what?”
“He’s building a narrative, Claire—making it look like you’ve been mentally unstable for a while and this whole divorce thing is just the latest symptom.”
“What did Tom and Steve say?”
“They bought it. Derek can be very convincing when he wants to be. He showed them some of your recent text conversations and pointed out how unlike you they were.”
I thought about how I’d responded to Dererick’s texts. Direct, confrontational, refusing to back down. To people who knew the old Clare, it probably did seem unlike me.
“There’s more. Derek called your job.”
My blood ran cold.
“He called Dr. Williams. He told your boss that you were going through a family emergency and might need some time off for medical reasons. He suggested that you’d been under a lot of stress lately and might not be thinking clearly.”
Dr. Williams was the principal at Roosevelt Elementary where I’d been teaching fourth grade for 8 years. If Derek was planting seeds there, too—
“Jake, he’s systematically undermining my credibility with everyone who knows me.”
“I know, and it’s working. Tom asked me tonight if I’d noticed you acting strange lately.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him the only thing strange was Derek talking about his wife like she was a business problem he needed to solve.”
“How did that go over?”
“Not well. They think I’m taking your side because I feel guilty about the poker night thing.”
I laid back on the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s good at this. Too good.
“Claire, there’s something else. Derek hired a lawyer today for the divorce.”
“No, a different kind of lawyer. The kind that specializes in guardianship and conservatorship cases.”
The room felt like it was spinning already.
“It’s only been 2 days since the poker night.”
“Derek told me he’s been planning this for months. The poker night incident just accelerated his timeline.”
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“That he’s been documenting your episodes for over a year. Memory problems, irrational spending, emotional outbursts. He has recordings, photographs, even medical records.”
“Medical records of what?”
“Remember when you went to the emergency room 6 months ago with those dizzy spells?”
I remembered. I’d been feeling lightheaded for weeks, and Dererick had insisted I see a doctor. They’d run tests, but never found anything wrong.
“What about it?”
“Derek told the doctors you’d been acting confused and disoriented at home. He gave them examples of you forgetting conversations and misplacing things. It’s all in your medical file now.”
The pieces clicked into place with horrible clarity.
“He’s been planning this for months, at least, maybe longer. Jake, I need you to do something for me.”
“Name it.”
“Tomorrow, Dererick’s going to ask you to do something. Probably involve you in some plan to find me or convince me to come home. I need you to say yes.”
“Claire—”
“I need to know what he’s planning, and I need evidence of him manipulating the situation.”
“You want me to record him?”
“Can you do that legally?”
“Same rules that apply to him recording you. As long as one party consents, it’s legal.”
“Then yes, record everything.”
“What if he asks me to help him file the conservatorship papers?”
“Help him, but document everything he tells you to say.”
Jake was quiet for a long moment.
“Claire, you’re playing a very dangerous game.”
“Derek started this game months ago. I’m just finally learning the rules.”
After I hung up with Jake, I sat in the hotel room silence for a long time. Tomorrow, I was supposed to meet with Marcus Reed, my private investigator, to review his preliminary findings. But tonight, I needed to do something Derek wouldn’t expect. I needed to start documenting everything from my side. I pulled out a notebook and started writing—every conversation, every incident Derrick had twisted, every time he’d claimed I was confused or forgetful when I knew I wasn’t. If Derek wanted to play the evidence game, he was about to learn that two could play.
The old Clare would have been intimidated by legal proceedings and conservatorship papers. The new Clare was about to become the most organized, well doumented woman in Oregon.
Derek thought I was losing my mind. Time to show him what a sharp mind could really accomplish.
Marcus Reed’s office looked exactly like you’d expect a private investigator’s office to look—cluttered desk, filing cabinets everywhere, and the faint smell of coffee that had been reheated one too many times. Marcus himself was a surprise, younger than I’d expected, with kind eyes and the most organized computer setup I’d ever seen.
“Mrs. Hartwell,” he said, gesturing to a chair across from his desk. “I have to say, your husband has been a very busy man.”
“Good busy or bad busy?”
“Depends on your perspective. For you, it’s very good news.”
Marcus opened a thick folder.
“Let’s start with the money trail.”
He spread several bank statements across his desk.
“Your husband has been transferring money to three different accounts over the past 18 months. Two are at Northwest Credit Union under his name only, and one is a joint account with someone named Melissa Crawford, the—”
“Girlfriend.”
“Exactly. Total amount transferred over 18 months, $54,000.”
I stared at the numbers.
“That’s more than Jake thought.”
“It gets worse—or better, depending on how you look at it.”
Marcus pulled out more papers.
“Dererick’s been using the joint account with Melissa to pay for a condo in Southeast Portland. They signed a 6-month lease 3 months ago. He’s been living with her, not full-time, but regularly. According to the neighbors I spoke with, he stays there most weekends and several nights during the week.”
So, all those late nights at the office and business trips—Derek had been playing house with his 28-year-old girlfriend while telling me I was mentally unstable.
“There’s more. Dererick’s been documenting your behavior.”
“Yes, but he’s also been documenting his own behavior with Melissa. Apparently, the man loves to take photographs.”
Marcus opened his laptop and turned it toward me. The screen showed a social media profile I didn’t recognize. Derek using his middle name, James, instead of his first name.
“He created this Facebook profile eight months ago. Look at the posts.”
I scrolled through photos of Derek and Melissa at restaurants, hiking trails, even what looked like a weekend trip to the coast. In every photo, Derek looked happier than I’d seen him in years.
“The timestamps on these photos correspond exactly with days when Derek told you he was working late or attending business conferences.”
He was documenting his affair while he was documenting my supposed mental decline.
“Gets better. Look at this post from 6 months ago.”
The post showed Derek and Melissa at a fancy restaurant. The caption read, “Finally free to be myself with someone who appreciates me. Life is too short to waste on people who don’t understand you.”
“J, ‘New beginnings, Jed. Grateful.’”
Six months ago. Right around the time Derek started pushing me to see a doctor about my memory problems.
“Marcus, this is incredibly stupid on his part.”
“Yes, but wait, there’s more.”
He pulled up another document.
“Dererick’s been consulting with his lawyer about the conservatorship process for 3 months. I managed to get copies of their email correspondence.”
“How did you get attorney client emails?”
Marcus smiled.
“Derek’s not very good with cyber security. He uses the same password for everything, and he accesses his email from his girlfriend’s laptop. Melissa’s Wi-Fi password is ‘password123.’ I’m good, but I’m not that good. Derek made this easy.”
He showed me printed emails between Derek and his attorney, Richard Steinberg. The subject line of the first one made my stomach turn.
“Reedited conservatorship process for unstable spouse.”
“Read this one,” Marcus said, pointing to an email dated two weeks ago.
“Richard, Clareire’s becoming increasingly erratic. Last night, she accused me of hiding money and threatened divorce. I’m worried she’s going to make financial decisions that could hurt both of us. How quickly can we move on the conservatorship? I have documentation going back 18 months, Derek.”
The attorney’s response was even worse.
“Derek, given the evidence you’ve provided, we can file for emergency conservatorship within 72 hours of a triggering incident. Make sure you have witnesses to any episodes and document everything. Once filed, her assets will be frozen, pending evaluation. —Richard.”
I read the emails twice, my hands shaking with anger. They’ve been planning to steal my money for months, and they’ve been stupid enough to put it all in writing.
Marcus pulled out another stack of papers.
“But here’s the really interesting part. Dererick’s been lying to his lawyer about your financial situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Derek told his attorney that you have approximately 50,000 in various accounts. He never mentioned your investment portfolio.”
“He doesn’t know about the growth. When I started that account 3 years ago, it was 60,000. He thinks that’s all I have.”
“Exactly. So when Derek files for conservatorship, he’ll be claiming control of $50,000. But you actually have 398,000 as of yesterday.”
Marcus grinned.
“Dererick’s planning to steal money he doesn’t even know exists.”
“What does that mean for me?”
“It means Dererick’s conservatorship filing will be based on false information. When the court realizes Dererick lied about your assets, his credibility will be shot.”
“But what if the court believes his documentation about my mental state?”
“That’s where things get really interesting.”
Marcus pulled out a final folder.
“I pulled Dererick’s phone records for the past year—every phone call, every text message, every email. And Derek’s been having regular phone conversations with Richard Steinberg about timing the conservatorship filing. But more importantly, he’s been coaching other people on what to say about your behavior.”
Marcus showed me phone logs with timestamps and contact names.
“Derek called your boss, Dr. Williams, three times in the past month. Each call lasted more than 20 minutes.”
“What were they talking about?”
“According to Dr. for Williams’ secretary, whom I spoke with yesterday, Dererick’s been asking detailed questions about your work performance and whether anyone at school has noticed changes in your behavior.”
The scope of Derrick’s manipulation was staggering.
“He’s been polling people about me.”
“It’s worse than that. Dererick’s been planting suggestions, asking leading questions like, ‘Have you noticed Clare seeming more forgetful lately?’ or ‘Do you think Clare’s been under more stress than usual?’ That’s witness tampering if we’re being technical about it.”
Marcus closed the folders and leaned back in his chair.
“Mrs. Hartwell, your husband has been building a case against you for months, but he’s also been building a case against himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every lie Derek’s told, every manipulation he’s attempted, every illegal thing he’s done to build his conservatorship case, it’s all documented—phone records, emails, bank statements, social media posts.”
“So, what happens now?”
“Now you decide how you want to play this. You can file for divorce and use this evidence to protect your assets. Or—”
“Or what?”
Marcus smiled.
“Or you can let Derek file for conservatorship first and then destroy him in court with evidence of his fraud, manipulation, and perjury.”
“That sounds risky.”
“It is, but it would also be incredibly satisfying.”
I thought about Dererick’s face when he’d called our marriage a joke. About all the nights he’d come home late smelling like someone else’s perfume. About the way he’d looked at me lately, like I was a problem to be solved rather than a person to be loved.
“Marcus, if I let Derek file first, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“If his plan works, your assets get frozen and you end up in a psychiatric facility for evaluation.”
“And if his plan fails?”
“Derek goes to jail for fraud, loses everything in the divorce, and probably gets disbarred from whatever professional associations he belongs to.”
I stood up and shook Marcus’s hand.
“Let’s give Derek enough rope to hang himself.”
“Are you sure about this, Mrs. Hartwell?”
“Marcus, my husband spent 15 years underestimating me. Time to find out what happens when someone finally pays attention.”
Playing the role of confused, unstable Clare was harder than I’d expected. For 3 days, I’d been leaving deliberate evidence of my supposed mental decline—forgetting to pay a bill here, sending a slightly incoherent text there, calling Jake to ask the same question twice in one day—all while Marcus Reed documented every move Dererick made in response. The performance was working. According to Jake, Derek was practically giddy with excitement about how quickly I was deteriorating. He’d called his lawyer twice in two days, updating him on my latest episodes.
But today, Marcus had called with news that changed everything.
“Mrs. Hartwell, you need to get somewhere safe. Derek filed the conservatorship papers this morning.”
I was sitting in yet another hotel room, this one in Salem, where I’d been hiding for the past week.
“Already? I thought we had more time.”
“Derek told the court it was an emergency situation. He claimed you’d made threats against yourself and others, and that you were in danger of making catastrophic financial decisions.”
“What kind of threats?”
“According to the filing, you told Jake you were thinking about ending it all and you’ve been talking about giving away large sums of money to strangers.”
I nearly laughed.
“That’s completely false.”
“I know, but Derek has Jake listed as a witness to your supposed suicidal statements.”
My blood ran cold.
“Jake wouldn’t lie for him.”
“Jake doesn’t know Dererick’s lying. Dererick told Jake that you called him yesterday crying and talking about how you can’t go on like this. Jake thinks he’s confirming something you actually said.”
The manipulation was breathtaking. Dererick had twisted my words to Jake about not being able to go on with the marriage and made it sound like I was suicidal.
“Marcus, what happens now?”
“You have 48 hours to respond to the filing. There will be a preliminary hearing on Friday where the judge decides whether to grant temporary conservatorship pending a full evaluation.”
“And if the judge grants it?”
“Your bank accounts get frozen. You lose access to your investment portfolio and you could be ordered to undergo psychiatric evaluation.”
I felt the walls closing in.
“What about all the evidence we have on Derek?”
“We can present it at the hearing, but Clare, there’s something else you need to know.”
“What?”
“Derek’s lawyer filed an emergency motion to have you located and brought in for immediate evaluation. He told the court you’ve been missing for over a week and might be a danger to yourself.”
“Can they do that?”
“If the judge grants the motion, yes, the police will be looking for you within 24 hours.”
I started pacing around the hotel room.
“Marcus, I need to end this now.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to show up at that hearing and present every piece of evidence we have. Derek wants to play dirty. Time to show him what dirty really looks like.”
“Claire, that’s risky. If something goes wrong—”
“Nothing’s going wrong. You said Derek documented everything, right? Every lie, every manipulation, every piece of fraud. Then let’s use it all.”
Two hours later, I was sitting in the office of Patricia Morrison, one of Portland’s most respected family law attorneys. Anna had recommended her, and one look at Patricia’s nononsense demeanor told me I’d made the right choice.
“Mrs. Hartwell,” Patricia said after reviewing Marcus’ evidence file. “This is one of the most clearcut cases of financial abuse and fraud I’ve seen in 20 years of practice.”
“Can we stop the conservatorship?”
“Stop it, Claire. We’re going to destroy it, and then we’re going to destroy your husband.”
Patricia opened her laptop and started typing.
“We’re filing a counter petition today, fraud charges against Derek, requests for emergency asset protection for you, and a motion to hold Derek in contempt for filing false statements with the court.”
“How strong is our case?”
“Derek created a paper trail of his own criminal behavior. He documented his affair, his financial fraud, and his systematic manipulation of witnesses. It’s like he wanted to get caught.”
“What about Jake? Dererick’s counting on him to testify that I’m unstable.”
Patricia smiled.
“Jake’s going to be our star witness. Marcus played me the recordings Jake made of Derek coaching him on what to say. Jake had no idea Derrick was manipulating him.”
“Recordings.”
“Dererick told Jake exactly what lies to tell the court. Jake recorded everything because he was uncomfortable with what Dererick was asking him to do. The irony was perfect. Dererick’s own best friend had recorded him committing perjury and witness tampering.”
“Mrs. Hardwell, I need to ask you something and I want you to be completely honest, okay? Are you prepared for Derek to lose everything? His job, his reputation, possibly his freedom?”
I thought about Dererick’s laugh when he’d called our marriage a joke, about Melissa’s photo albums documenting their relationship while Derek convinced me I was losing my mind. About the dozens of people Dererick had manipulated into thinking I was mentally unstable.
“Patricia, Dererick spent months planning to have me locked away so he could steal my money and run off with his girlfriend. The only thing I’m not prepared for is him getting away with it.”
“Good answer.” Patricia picked up her phone. “I’m calling the court now. By tomorrow morning, Dererick’s going to wish he’d never heard the word conservatorship.”
“What about the police motion to find me?”
“We’re going to save them the trouble. You’re going to walk into that courtroom on Friday morning with a team of lawyers and enough evidence to bury Derek so deep he’ll need a map to find daylight.”
As I left Patricia’s office, I realized I wasn’t scared anymore. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I was finally playing offense instead of defense. Derek thought he was smart. Time to show him what smart really looked like.
Friday morning arrived with the kind of crisp October air that made everything feel possible. I stood outside the Multma County Courthouse at 8:45 a.m. watching Derek and his lawyer, Richard Steinberg, hurry up the front steps. Derek looked confident, checking his phone and adjusting his tie like he was heading into a routine business meeting. He had no idea what was waiting for him.
Patricia Morrison touched my shoulder.
“Ready?”
“More than ready.”
We walked through the courthouse doors at exactly 9 or more a.m. Derek was sitting at a table near the front of the courtroom with Richard Steinberg, a thin man with gray hair who kept shuffling through papers. Jake was in the gallery looking uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact with Derek. Derek turned around when he heard our footsteps and his face went through a series of expressions I’ll remember for the rest of my life—surprise, relief, confusion, and then growing panic as he noticed Patricia and the second lawyer she’d brought with her.
“Your honor,” Patricia said to Judge Sarah Chen, “Patricia Morrison representing Clare Hartwell in opposition to the conservatorship petition.”
Judge Chen looked up from her papers.
“Morrison, I wasn’t expecting representation from Mrs. Hartwell. The petitioner indicated she was missing and possibly unable to participate in these proceedings.”
“As you can see, your honor, Mrs. Hartwell is present and very much able to participate. In fact, we have several motions to file this morning.”
Richard Steinberg jumped up.
“Your honor, Mrs. Hartwell’s sudden appearance doesn’t negate the emergency nature of this petition. Her absence for over a week demonstrates exactly the kind of erratic behavior we’ve documented.”
“Actually,” Patricia said smoothly, “Mrs. Hartwell’s absence was a direct response to her husband’s systematic harassment and manipulation. We have extensive documentation of Mr. Hartwell’s fraudulent behavior.”
Judge Chen leaned forward.
“This is a conservatorship hearing, not a divorce proceeding.”
“Yes, your honor, but Mr. Hartwell’s conservatorship petition is based entirely on fraudulent evidence and perjured testimony. We’re asking the court to dismiss the petition and hold—”
“Mr. Hartwell,”
in contempt.
Dererick leaned over to whisper something to his lawyer, his face now completely pale. Richard Steinberg stood up again.
“Your honor, these are serious accusations without merit. Mr. Hartwell has 18 months of documented evidence showing his wife’s declining mental state.”
“Indeed, he does,” Patricia agreed. “Eighteen months of fabricated evidence, witness tampering, and systematic fraud.”
Judge Chen held up her hand.
“Ms. Morrison, these are serious allegations. What evidence do you have to support them?”
Patricia opened her briefcase and pulled out three thick binders.
“Your honor, we have phone records, have email correspondence, financial documents, and audio recordings that prove Mr. Hartwell has been conducting a systematic campaign to defraud his wife and manipulate the court.”
She handed one binder to the judge and another to Richard Steinberg. Derek tried to read over his lawyer’s shoulder, but Richard kept moving the papers away from him.
“Let’s start with exhibit A,” Patricia continued. “Email correspondence between Mr. Hartwell and his attorney discussing plans to expedite conservatorship and freeze CLA’s assets in preparation for a divorce filing.”
Judge Chen read the emails with a deepening frown.
“Mr. Steinberg, did your client inform you that he was planning to file for divorce?”
Richard Steinberg’s voice was barely a whisper.
“No, your honor.”
“Did he inform you that Mrs. Hartwell has investment accounts totaling nearly $400,000?”
“No, your honor. He said she had approximately $50,000 in various accounts.”
Patricia smiled.
“Your honor, Mr. Hartwell has been systematically hiding information from his own attorney while building a fraudulent case for conservatorship.”
Derek finally found his voice.
“Your honor, I can explain—”
“Mr. Hartwell,” Judge Chen said sharply. “You will remain silent unless I ask you a direct question.”
Patricia continued, “Exhibit B contains phone records showing that Mr. Hartwell contacted 14 different people over the past 3 months, asking leading questions about his wife’s behavior and planting suggestions about her mental state.”
She opened the second binder.
“Exhibit C documents Mr. Hartwell’s extrammarital affair, including financial records showing he’s been supporting his girlfriend with money taken from joint marital accounts.”
Derek was now visibly sweating. Richard Steinberg looked like he wanted to disappear under the table.
“And finally, your honor, exhibit D contains audio recordings of Mr. Hartwell coaching his primary witness, Jake Morrison, on what false testimony to provide to this court.”
Judge Chen looked up sharply.
“Audio recordings?”
“Yes, your honor. Mr. Morrison was uncomfortable with Mr. Hartwell’s requests and recorded their conversations. We have clear evidence of attempted perjury and witness tampering.”
Judge Chen turned to Jake in the gallery.
“Mr. Morrison, please approach the bench.”
Jake stood up slowly and walked forward. Derek watched him with a look of absolute betrayal.
“Mr. Morrison, did Mr. Hartwell ask you to provide false testimony to this court?”
Jake’s voice was clear and strong.
“Yes, your honor. Derek told me to say that Clareire had made suicidal statements and was talking about giving away money. None of that was true.”
“And you recorded these conversations?”
“Yes, your honor. I was uncomfortable lying under oath, even for Derek.”
Judge Chen turned back to Derek and Richard Steinberg.
“Mr. Steinberg, I’m dismissing this conservatorship petition immediately. Furthermore, I’m ordering an investigation into potential perjury and fraud charges against your client.”
Derek finally exploded.
“This is insane. Claire’s been missing for a week. She’s been acting completely irrationally—”
“Mr. Hartwell,” Judge Chen said with icy calm, “based on the evidence presented here today, the only person acting irrationally is you. You’ve attempted to defraud your wife, committed perjury in my courtroom, and tampered with witnesses.”
Patricia stepped forward.
“Your honor, we’re also filing for emergency asset protection and requesting that Mr. Hartwell be ordered to stay away from Mrs. Hartwell pending divorce proceedings.”
“Granted.”
Judge Chen banged her gavvel.
“Mr. Heartwell, you are hereby ordered to have no contact with your wife and to stay at least 500 ft away from her at all times. Violation of this order will result in immediate arrest.”
As the courtroom cleared, Derek sat in stunned silence while Richard Steinberg packed up his papers with shaking hands. Jake approached me in the hallway.
“Clareire, I’m so sorry. I had no idea how far Dererick had gone.”
“Jake, you saved me. If you hadn’t recorded those conversations—”
“I just couldn’t lie under oath, even for Derek.”
Patricia joined us in the hallway.
“Clareire, Dererick’s going to be arrested within the next few hours. Are you prepared for that?”
I thought about Derek’s confident smile as he’d walked into the courthouse this morning and his shocked expression as Judge Chen dismissed his case.
“Patricia, after what Dererick tried to do to me, I’m prepared for whatever comes next.”
“Good, because this is just the beginning.”
As we walked out of the courthouse, I realized that Dererick had been right about one thing. Our marriage really had been a joke. The punchline was that he’d been the only one not in on it.
The phone call came at 6:43 p.m. while I was having dinner with Anna. Derek had been arrested at his office and charged with attempted fraud, perjury, and witness tampering. His booking photo would be in the newspaper tomorrow morning.
“How do you feel?” Anna asked as I hung up with Patricia.
“Honestly, empty. I thought I’d feel triumphant or vindicated, but mostly I just feel tired.”
“That’s normal. You’ve been running on adrenaline for weeks.”
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
“Claire, this is Melissa. Can we talk?”
I showed Anna the message.
“What do you think she wants?”
“Probably to explain why she was sleeping with your husband while he tried to have you committed.”
I typed back,
“What do you want to talk about?”
Her response came immediately.
“Derek lied to me about everything. I found something you need to see.”
Against Anna’s advice, I agreed to meet Melissa at a coffee shop downtown. I was curious about the woman who’d been living in my husband’s shadow life. And frankly, I wanted to see what Dererick had been willing to destroy his marriage for.
Melissa Crawford was prettier than her photos, but she looked exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes, no makeup, hair pulled back in a messy bun. She was sitting in a corner booth when I arrived, nervously shredding a napkin.
“Clareire.” She stood up when she saw me. “Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Melissa.” I sat across from her, studying the woman who’d been sleeping with my husband for 8 months. “What did you want to show me?”
She pulled out her phone with shaking hands.
“First, I need you to know that Derek told me you were separated. He said you’d been divorced for 6 months and that you were—that you were mentally ill.”
“And you believed him?”
“I had no reason not to. He seemed so concerned about you, so sad about how your illness was affecting your children.”
“We don’t have children.”
Melissa’s face crumpled.
“I know that now, Clare. Derek told me you had two teenage kids who were struggling to cope with your deteriorating condition.”
The scope of Dererick’s lies was staggering. He’d created an entirely fictional version of our life to justify his affair.
“What else did he tell you?”
“—that you were dangerous when you had episodes, that you’d threatened him and tried to hurt yourself. He showed me medical records that proved you were delusional.”
“Medical records?”
“Photos of prescription bottles, doctor’s notes, even recordings of you saying confused things.”
I realized Derek had been using the same fabricated evidence on Melissa that he’d planned to use in court.
“Melissa, none of that was real.”
“I’m starting to understand that.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Last night after Derek was arrested, I went through his things at the condo. I found this.”
She handed me a manila folder labeled project Clare. Inside were dozens of printed emails, photographs, and what looked like a detailed timeline.
“What am I looking at?”
“Derek’s master plan. Everything he’d been doing to you, and everything he was planning to do.”
I opened the folder and felt sick. The timeline started 18 months ago with entries like begin documenting Clare’s behavior and research conservatorship laws. It progressed through initiate affair with Melissa as exit strategy and plant seeds about Clare’s mental state with friends and family. The final entries were chilling entries. File conservatorship petition. Move Clare to secure facility and transfer assets to protected accounts.
“Melissa, this is a blueprint for destroying your life.”
“Yes, but Claire, look at the last page.”
I flipped to the final document. A print out of an email Derek had never sent, dated 3 days ago.
“Richard, once Clare is in the facility, how long before I can access her investment accounts? Melissa and I want to move to California as soon as the assets are transferred. Also, what’s the statute of limitations on visiting psychiatric patients? I prefer not to see Clare again if possible. —Derek.”
The email contained details about Dererick’s plan to move to California with Melissa and start a new life using my money. He’d been planning to have me committed and then abandoned me completely.
“Melissa, why are you showing me this?”
“Because I fell in love with a lie.”
Her voice broke.
“The man I thought Derek was doesn’t exist. The real Derek was planning to steal money from his wife and leave her locked in a psychiatric facility.”
“What about the condo? The relationship?”
“All fake. Dererick was using me as an alibi for why he needed to leave you. He told me we were building a future together, but really I was just part of his exit strategy.”
I studied Melissa’s face, looking for signs of deception. She seemed genuinely devastated.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m moving back to Seattle to live with my sister. I can’t stay in Portland knowing how much damage I helped cause.”
“Melissa, you didn’t know.”
“I should have asked more questions. I should have demanded to meet your children or see the divorce papers. I wanted to believe Derek so badly that I ignored all the red flags.”
“What red flags?”
“Derek never wanted me to go to your house or meet any of your mutual friends. He said it would be too painful for you, but really he was afraid someone would tell me the truth.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since Dererick’s arrest yesterday. His bail hearing was on the news and they mentioned he was married. I Googled your name and found your teaching profile at Roosevelt Elementary. 15 years at the same school, glowing reviews from parents, awards for excellence in education. You didn’t sound like someone with a severe mental illness.”
“What made you finally realized Derek was lying?”
“I called the elementary school and asked to speak with you. The secretary said you were taking some personal time, but that you’d been one of their most reliable teachers for years. She seemed confused when I asked about your children.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Two women who’d been manipulated by the same man in different ways.
“Claire, there’s something else. Derek has been lying about money to both of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Derek told me he was financially supporting you because of your illness. He said it cost him almost 3,000 a month for your medical care and that’s why he couldn’t afford to take me on expensive trips.”
“He was taking 3,000 from our joint account and telling you he was spending it on me.”
“Yes. And telling you he was spending it on taxes and retirement.”
“Exactly. Dererick’s been stealing from both of us and lying about where the money was going.”
I felt a strange kinship with this woman who’d unknowingly been part of my husband’s scheme. We’d both been victims of Dererick’s manipulation, just in different ways.
“Melissa, what will you do if prosecutors want you to testify?”
“Tell the truth. All of it. Derek destroyed both our lives with his lies.”
As I drove home from the coffee shop, I realized that Dererick’s betrayal was even worse than I’d thought. He hadn’t just been planning to steal my money and abandon me. He’d been planning to erase me completely.
But Dererick had made one crucial mistake. He’d underestimated how smart the women in his life really were.
Tomorrow, Patricia would file additional fraud charges based on Melissa’s evidence. Derek’s master plan would become exhibit A in his own prosecution. The joke was definitely on him now.
Six months later, I stood in the kitchen of my new apartment reading the newspaper headline. Local man sentenced to 5 years for elder fraud and attempted conservatorship abuse. Derek’s photo was on the front page, looking nothing like the confident man who’d once called our marriage a joke. The trial had been swift and decisive. Dererick’s own documentation had provided most of the evidence needed to convict him. The jury deliberated for less than 3 hours. Richard Steinberg, Derek’s lawyer, had been disbarred for knowingly filing false documents with the court. Apparently, prosecutors found additional evidence that Richard had helped other clients abuse the conservatorship system.
Jake stopped by that morning with coffee and updates.
“Did you see Derek’s interview with the prison newsletter?”
“He gave an interview?”
“Short one. He said he was a victim of circumstantial evidence and that you manipulated everyone into believing lies about him.”
I almost laughed. Even in prison, Derek still trying to rewrite history.
“Patricia called me yesterday. The civil suit settlement came through. Dererick had been forced to pay me $150,000 in damages, basically everything he had left after legal fees and restitution. Melissa had also received a small settlement for being defrauded, though she’d donated her portion to a domestic violence charity.”
“What are you going to do with the money? Travel, maybe? I’ve always wanted to see Europe—alone.”
I smiled at Jake’s carefully casual tone. Over the past 6 months, Jake and I had become close friends. He’d been instrumental in Dererick’s conviction, testifying about the lies Dererick had asked him to tell. More importantly, he’d become the kind of friend I’d forgotten was possible. Someone who listened without judging and supported without expecting anything in return.
“Maybe not alone,” I said. “I hear Prague is beautiful in the spring.”
Jake’s face lit up.
“I’ve always wanted to see Prague.”
“Jake Morrison, are you asking to be my travel companion?”
“I’m asking to be whatever you want me to be, Clare.”
We were interrupted by my phone ringing. The caller ID showed Roosevelt Elementary.
“Clare,” Dr. Williams said when I answered, “I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m listening.”
“The school board approved our new anti-bullying program, and we want you to head it up. It’s a promotion, department head level, with a $20,000 salary increase.”
I’d been back at work for 3 months, and it felt like coming home. Teaching had always been my sanctuary, the one place where I felt completely confident and capable.
“When do I start?”
“September, if you’re interested. But Claire, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The program includes community outreach. Specifically, we want to partner with senior advocacy groups to educate older adults about financial abuse and manipulation.”
The irony was perfect. Derek’s attempt to destroy me had given me a platform to help other people avoid the same fate.
“Dr. Williams, I’m very interested.”
After I hung up, Jake was grinning at me.
“Department head. That’s fantastic.”
“It feels right. Like everything that happened with Derek was leading to this.”
“Maybe it was. Maybe Dererick’s biggest mistake was showing you how strong you really are.”
I thought about the woman I’d been a year ago—quiet, accommodating, always deferring to Dererick’s opinions and decisions. That woman had been real, but she’d also been incomplete. The past year had forced me to discover parts of myself I’d forgotten existed.
“Jake, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“That night at poker when Dererick said our marriage was a joke. Did you think he was right?”
Jake was quiet for a moment.
“Honestly, I thought Dererick was the joke. You were the best thing that ever happened to him and he was too stupid to see it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I didn’t think it was my place. But Clare, if I could go back and change that night, I wouldn’t want you to change anything. If Derek hadn’t revealed who he really was, you might have spent the rest of your life with him. And now—now you know what you’re worth. And you know the difference between being loved and being used.”
That evening, I sat on my apartment balcony with a glass of wine, watching the sunset over Portland. My phone buzzed with a text from Anna.
“Saw the newspaper article. How are you feeling?”
I typed back,
“Like the punchline of a very good joke.”
“Anna, what do you mean?”
“Derek thought I was the joke. Turns out I was the one laughing all along.”
In the distance, I could see the lights of the city coming on. Somewhere out there, people were making promises to love and honor each other. Some of those promises would be real, and some would be lies wrapped in pretty words. But I’d learned to tell the difference. Derek had been right about one thing. Our marriage had been a joke. But the real punchline was that destroying it had been the best thing that ever happened to me. I’d spent 15 years trying to be the wife Derek wanted. Now I was free to be the woman I’d always been underneath, and she was pretty amazing.
