Collateral Damage
This story is a far cry from the typical BTB, take a baseball bat to his knees, revenge story.
I like a good bat to the knees story, but then I realize I probably wouldn't do well in prison.
I often read revenge stories where I wonder about the collateral damage.
I read a story about some creep who is dipping his pen in a married ink well and enjoy whatever clever way he gets the punishment he so richly deserves, but then I often wonder what happens to his wife and kids and should they suffer in the process?
So, how do you get justice without doing harm to others?
I think maybe I found a way.
>>> >>> >>>
It was the day I had dreaded for two weeks. I knew the truth even before I hired the investigator. The marriage had been bankrupted for the last year and impoverished the year before, but like most long-married men I was slow to see the signs. Love and trust become a habit when you've been married for over two decades. When things aren't right, when communication breaks down and the shared experiences you've come to expect slowly evaporate, you reach out and reengage. You try to talk with your spouse, do things together, and be patient and loving while assuming whatever is wrong will work itself out. Eventually, you look around and find yourself more alone than you've ever been even when she is present, and you begin to ask questions.
My wife, Claire Daniels, worked four days each week and had Wednesdays off. Four days each week we got home at about the same time and took turns preparing dinner. There was a time when we cooked together, but it seemed that more and more we each cooked alone. When she would cook, she refused my help. When I would cook, she would busy herself with other things. On Wednesdays she was usually home when I arrived, but I began to realize she was going out and arriving home only a short time ahead of me. Of course, there were plenty of perfectly good reasons for this, but my doubts weighed on me. A married man learns to phrase his concerns as innocent questions if he wants to avoid a pointless fight. Monday through Friday, I'd ask her about her day and increasingly I got cryptic responses without any real information. We were more than just drifting apart; she was pulling away.
Our kids, a boy and a girl, were off at college. That left the two of us to build a new life with fewer obligations and more time together. For some reason, it wasn't working out that way. We weren't together as much as I expected and when we were, she often wasn't entirely there. It was no one thing that clued me in. There were no hushed phone calls, no text messages, and no long hours on the computer. She never kept her phone locked and I confess I checked. I checked her email, too. Our sex life continued as before. She just didn't engage.
What's a husband to do? I saw no value in spyware like miniaturized cameras and audio recorders, no taps on the phone line, no GPS tracker under her car. I figured if she was hiding anything I knew where to look, so I hired a P.I. named Harvey Mattison and told him simply, "She's off doing something on Wednesdays. Find out what it is and don't get caught." That was a Monday. Two days later he knew what she was up to and a week after that he had the video. It cost me less than you might think. They were creatures of habit. The thing that meant they didn't need to be contacting each other was the same thing that made it so easy to get caught.
Every Wednesday she met a man named Bill Alexander at the Best Western off the interstate. They got a meal, took a room, bumped uglies until they were exhausted, and headed for their respective homes. The affair had been going on for two years, which was about what I suspected. How do I know? A small bribe to the office got us a look at their billing records. Bill was gallant and always paid for the room. He could afford it. William Alexander was the owner of one of the largest plumbing companies in the city. He owned a fleet of trucks and a small army of employees. He also had a wife who was slowly dying of multiple myeloma. My heart went out to his wife, but he was a scum bag.
The pro I hired didn't break the news to me until he had the video. He knew I wanted iron clad proof and he didn't trust me not to tip my hand if he told me what he thought. He was right. It was a Thursday morning, the day after he got the video, when my investigator gave me the news. I sat in his office as he briefed me. Then he turned the computer screen in my direction, started the video running, and left me alone with my pain. I want to tell you what I saw, but it would sound sexier than it was. It was just two middle-aged people fucking. They got undressed like an old married couple going to bed for the ten thousandth time. They talked about their week, talked about their kids, talked about the traffic getting there, talked about their lunch just minutes ago, and they talked and talked and talked as they took their time to step out of their shoes, and their clothes, and their middle-aged underwear. They embraced and kissed, rubbed all the necessary places, and fucked like a middle-aged, mildly overweight, couple. They lay together and talked some more, and when he was ready, they fucked again. If they tried to make a living in the porn industry, they'd be living in a dirty one-room apartment and barely scraping by. This movie wasn't going to sell a lot of copies.
That's not to say it wasn't breaking my heart. She might not have been a porn star, but she was my wife for better or worse, forsaking all others, except she wasn't anymore. For the first time in a long time, I finally understood my marriage. She was giving everything to Bill, and I was just an afterthought.
Avoiding her that Thursday night was easier than you might imagine because she'd been avoiding me for two years. Friday was the same and the weekend wasn't much different. For the first time, her indifference benefited me. Monday morning, I sat with a lawyer, Burt Taylor, who specialized in Family Law. What a hell of a thing to call a guy who specializes in tearing apart a family with divorce! He told me my rights and what to expect, and then I told him what I wanted to do. At first, he tried to wave me off. "You don't understand. Suing someone for alienation of affection is a waste of time. They hardly ever go anywhere, there's not much money in it, and it just opens you to public ridicule."
"You don't understand how I want to do it." And with that, I laid it out for him. Have you ever seen a lawyer lean forward and smile? It's like looking into the mouth of a shark that smells blood in the water. He scared even me.
"You do realize if you do this you will never see a dime."
"I know."
"And you will still need to pay my bill." There was that smile again.
"I know."
"Henry, I've had a lot of people sit where you are now. I've watched their lives go up in smoke, watched their savings evaporate, and there's never a damn bit of justice in any of it. If you can pull this off, I might just take your case for fee."
Now I was smiling.
Once the paperwork was ready, both Claire and Bill received registered letters from the law offices of Turner and Taylor. They were told that a situation had arisen that required their attention and could they please attend a meeting on Tuesday afternoon at 10 AM. We chose Tuesday because we were gambling that they wouldn't bother to tell each other about their appointments.
Claire arrived first at 9:50. Bill walked through the door five minutes later. The secretary said that when Bill arrived and they saw each other, the look of panic on their faces was the best part of her entire week. She was in on our plans and tried not to smile as the cheaters took chairs as far apart in the room as was possible. When I arrived promptly at 10 AM they fell into a laughable state of confusion and panic. I just looked at them both and before Claire could ask any questions I said, "We'll just be a moment." With that, I walked into my lawyer's personal office like I owned the place. I don't think that made them feel any better.
A minute later Burt buzzed his secretary who stood up, walked to the office door and said, "Mrs. Daniels, Mr. Alexander, Mr. Taylor will see you now." And with that she opened the door and admitted two very nervous cheaters.
Burt Taylor and I were seated on one side of the conference table with my P.I. The cheaters sat together on the other. Claire tried to speak, but Burt stopped her. "Mrs. Daniels, all will be explained in a moment."
