"1988 Jaguar, XJ 6, Dark Green with Tan Leather Interior. 142K Miles."
The ad was forming in my mind as I stood in the garage looking at my wife's car.
We'd had it since '93; she'd picked it out at a Cadillac dealership. The plan was to buy her a new car, but when she saw the Jag...well, that was her car.
We had been married three years by then, I was doing well (I'm a lawyer), and the old car she had been driving was just that; old.
She had been a good car, the Jag, never a bit of trouble. The engine started first time, every time. The paint still looked factory fresh with the exception of the odd spot or two. Now, the wife wanted to replace her.
I walked around her, running my hand over the smooth metal. "Car, you've been a faithful servant for a bunch of years. I hate the thought of some idiot abusing you."
"Idiot?"
"Yeah some doofus that can't appreciate automotive art."
"Thank you, Sir"
It began to dawn on me the car was responding. Not aloud, but in my head. I tried removing my hand and saying something...no reply.
Putting my hand on the left fender, where the paint seemed faded, "I wonder why it faded here, and not there?"
A picture of my wife; draped over the fender, being fucked from behind, popped into my brain. Shaking my head, I moved around to the trunk. There, another dull spot had caught my eye. Running my hands over it, a picture of her; stretched out on her back, feet resting on the bumper. I could see two more spots. They might correlate with shoes. Small shoes, say size four?
Continuing around the car, this time keeping a hand in contact; at the right rear door, I felt the urge to open. Looking in at the seat, I pictured her in a sixty-nine with another woman. The flaming red hair could only be Iona.
I looked across the garage at my car, the Mustang. I knew it had no such memories.
I closed the door, moved on to the front one. Again, an urge to open. She was sitting, sucking cock. Looking at the roof above the door, dullness in two places. Putting my hands on them, John Lowry, the golf pro, came to me. Looking down at the tan leather seat, a peculiar stain caught my eye; narrow, extending half way across the seat from the outside bolster. A water stain? "No," the car said.
With sadness, I continued toward the front. Just over the wheel, dulled. From the fender edge, up and over, to the hood line. She was taking it from behind. The man was my partner. He was fucking her in the ass. And had many times, from the looks of the car.
Walking around to the driver's door, I was almost afraid of what I might learn, but the car was quiet. I sat behind the wheel. It was cramped; she is much smaller than I. Putting my hands on the wheel, I sensed the 'energy' of the car. It wasn't a she, it was a he. A masculine, properly British, He.
"Why didn't I know about this before?"
"You didn't want to see."
"Why am I seeing now?"
"You asked, Sir. A Gentleman does not tell tales, Sir."
"What am I to do now?"
"It's not my place to say, Sir."
"Thank you. I don't think I'll sell you. You shall stay in the family."
"Thank you Sir."
Releasing the wheel, stepping out, gently closing the door, I mulled the possibilities;
Divorce was out. Way too costly. Millions.
Revenge? On who? How many lovers, over how much time? From the looks of the paint, a long time. One however, was a certainty; my partner.
Then what? I had always been a loving husband, careful and considerate. Apparently when she said 'not tonight honey, I don't feel well' she really meant "My pussy and ass are too sore."
Of one thing I was sure; my devoted wife of twenty years would pay a price. Every act she had denied me, every orifice she had protected, were going to be mine.
......................................................
On the theory that a man who would take my wife would also take my money, I asked for a quiet audit of the practice's books. The Auditors I brought in were not my usual company. They found evidence of fraud and embezzlement, possibly in the millions. A more thorough search would have to be in the open.
Next step was surveillance. I brought in the agency we always used. Their presence in the office would be quite normal. Their instructions were not.
"I want you to watch my wife until further notice. I also want you watching my partner. You will only report to me on these matters. In addition, I want a live feed to my computer of anything compromising on either of them."
As you can see, a fairly standard procedure for this kind of case. Well, except for the live feeds that is.
----------------------------------------------
Three weeks later, I had more than enough evidence.
I began with the book keeping firm I had used for the last ten years. (On my partner's recommendation) Laying out the audit report on my desk, I asked Mrs. Harris over for a consultation. When she came in I offered her a chair, water. Always the gracious host.
Once she was comfortable, I began; "I have here an audit of the firm's finances..."
She blanched, "I didn't know about an audit..."
"Yes, I know. It seems someone has 'misplaced' millions of dollars." The glass fell to the floor. There was no color in her face.
"How long have you been shorting me? And don't deny it. I have the evidence here."
"Ten years. It was Mr. Wilson, he wanted this. At first I didn't want to, but he's very persuasive, and after a while-when you didn't notice-it became easier."
"Here are documents. Read them, fill in the blanks telling how long and how much. Then sign them."
When she finished, I escorted her out my private entrance.
Next, I called in Wilson.
I had always considered him a friend. No longer. As he sat, I offered him a scotch, mentioned I had a couple small items of office housekeeping we had to go over.
"I had to fire Mrs. Harris today."
His fingers tightened on the glass, but that was the only sign he gave. "Really? Why was that? I always thought she was quite competent."
There was some wariness about his eyes now. "Well, it seems she has been embezzling from us almost from the time she started."
"Mrs. Harris? I don't believe it!"
"You should. It was you that set it up, got the majority of the money. Our partnership is through. "
"Surely you must be mistaken."
