MY HUSBAND PARADED HIS MISTRESS INTO OUR HOME AND DECLARED MY DISMISSAL—UTTERLY OBLIVIOUS THAT WITHIN THE HOUR, HE WOULD BE THE ONE RENDERED HOMELESS.
Pulling into the drive, my belongings were there—scattered across the lawn like discarded debris. My husband stood sentinel, a triumphant smile stretched across his face, as if he had just conquered the world… accompanied by his mistress.
The fragility of our marriage was already starkly apparent. Barely a day prior, I had unearthed his betrayal.
HUSBAND: “Need I reiterate, this dwelling is my grandfather’s legacy, and you possess no claim to it. You are evicted. Gather your possessions and vacate. Instantly.”
I masked my reaction, suppressing the sharp sting of his words. I commenced collecting my things, loading them into my vehicle.
Precisely as I reached for the last carton, a black SUV materialized, and abruptly, the triumphant smile vanished from my husband’s visage. ⬇️From the SUV emerged a stern-faced woman in a tailored suit, followed by two men in dark, imposing uniforms. She walked with purpose directly towards my husband and his mistress.
“Mr. Davies,” she stated, her voice crisp and professional. “I am Agent Miller with the IRS. We have a warrant for your arrest, and a court order seizing this property.”
My husband’s triumphant demeanor crumbled. “What? This is ridiculous! On what grounds?”
Agent Miller produced a document. “Tax evasion, money laundering, and a series of shell corporations established to hide assets. Your grandfather’s legacy, as you call it, was heavily funded by undeclared income. He passed the problem, unknowingly or not, onto you.”
His mistress, previously beaming with a possessive air, began to pale. She slowly edged away from him as the two uniformed men stepped forward to handcuff him.
“You can’t do this!” he yelled, struggling against their grip. “This is my house!”
Agent Miller raised an eyebrow. “Actually, Mr. Davies, based on our investigation, it now belongs to the United States government. We’ll be conducting a full inventory and appraisal. You and your… associate… will need to gather your belongings and vacate the premises immediately. You have one hour.”
The mistress, now thoroughly panicked, started frantically stuffing designer handbags with whatever she could grab. My husband, still protesting, was led towards the SUV.
I watched the scene unfold, the initial shock giving way to a grim satisfaction. Karma, it seemed, had impeccable timing. As the SUV pulled away, Agent Miller approached me.
“Mrs. Davies?” she asked. “We understand you were residing here. While the property is now under federal control, we are aware of your situation. We are also aware of your substantial financial contributions to the upkeep of this property over the years, with proof thereof. We will keep that into account when assessing the estate.”
She paused, then added, “We also understand that you were wrongfully evicted this afternoon. While we cannot legally prevent you from leaving, we will not stop you if you choose to remain in the house while we conduct the inventory.”
I looked at the house, at the scattered remnants of my life strewn across the lawn. Then, I looked at Agent Miller. A slow smile spread across my face.
“Thank you, Agent Miller,” I said. “I think I will stay. After all, someone needs to keep an eye on the place.”