But Saturday morning showed the queen of porn coming home. I still liked looking at her; she had a body to kill for. I saw her come in, take off her blouse, and walked into the bathroom -with her HUGE Dolce and Gabbana purse. The camera in the bedroom shot right into the bathroom, right up to the shower door. She then came into view from the left, picked up on the camera over the mirrors. She kicked off her shoes, dropped to a sitting position, and reached into the bottom of the linen closet.
"Huh," I said. She pulled out two large toilet paper cases, some large beach towels, and some bathroom cleaning supplies. She then reached in and popped up the floor of the cabinet. She pulled out a plastic storage case. She unsnapped the lid and reached into her purse and pulled out three large wads of cash. She counted them quickly and put them in the box. She pulled out a notebook, opened it, and made some notes. She put everything back in place. Then she stood, stripped down, and showered. She finished her shower, and toweled off, then came into bed. She did her little soliloquy and pulled up the covers, taking her half of the bed out of the middle.
'WHAT THE FUCK?' I thought. I jumped up and ran upstairs, into the bathroom, and dropped to the floor. I pulled out the t/p, the towels, and the cleaning shit-brushes, sprays, chemicals- and stared at the bottom of the linen closet. 'Let's see, now,' I muttered. I pushed on the floor, around the edges, and finally, it popped up. I took out the panel, and there it was- a plastic box, gun-metal gray. I reached in and pulled it out and noticed that on one side of the opening were three ledgers and a file book. I dragged them out. I knew what was in the box, but the books were new. I opened the oldest log, dated on the cover, and started to read. My whole world came to a screeching, destructive end.
It started when we met. Her parents were working class and struggled to put her through college. SHE felt entitled(her words); SHE partied her way through a business degree (her words) and then met me. SHE figured I was her ticket out(HER WORDS). SHE seduced me (HER WORDS) and led me around by my cock(She said). We graduated, I got my first lawyer position, and we got married. First shock- 2 weeks before we graduated, she went home to visit her folks because she said, "Her dad had been sick." She went to a clinic and had her tubes tied. She wound up staying with friends for three weeks, giving everything time to heal up. She came home and said she just got her period. 'I won't have to worry about kids,' she wrote.
The rest of our marriage's first five years was her fucking me and everything else she could find. She contracted 3 STDs and complained of urinary infections. Then she started everybody who was tapping her using condoms, telling me she wanted to begin a career before having kids. (Heard that one before???) She scaled back her sexual escapades over the next five years and slowly started our sex life dropping off. I didn't notice because I was working my ass off( O.K., I was a dumd shit. Suite me I was in love with her). She got a job as a currency trader, and I started my shop. Life appeared to be pretty good.
(SUCKER!!) That was when she hooked up with Marcus Blaine and started her sexual exploits. She also started a company, Sonia, Inc. She was filing separate tax returns and doing quite well, with extensive real estate holdings. Everything was paid for by her porn activities, which came under the heading ("Events of a Personal Nature"). That brought us up to the end of the third ledger. Forgive me if I leave out the sordid sexual details and constant husband bashing.
It appears that she and Marcus had something planned for February next year. I picked up the report binder, four rings, and plastic sleeved. Inside, 2 Argentinian passports, 1 for Sonia and 1 for Marcus; an itinerary, starting on Valentine's Day, at 10:00 a.m. with a flight leaving for Mexico City. 'Not very smart. I can get them there.' The reservations were in their names. The second leg out of Mexico would be with clean, new Mexican passports, to Buenos Aires. From there, they flew to Johannesburg, South Africa using the Argentinian passports. Using South African passports, they flew To Madagascar. Then She went on alone to Malta, on an Italian passport, and then to Cherbourg, France, and then to Switzerland. WOW!! My soon to be ex-wife, the secret agent. No divorce just disappeared. It would take seven years to have her declared legally dead IF she were missing.
Inside several of the plastic sleeves were small spreadsheets, with over 25 separate accounts showing overseas deposits in various countries, totaling approximately $25 million. They had exit accounts set up, so the funds could be transferred several times, all ending up- You guessed it- in Switzerland. But it was the last page that was very interesting.
It detailed something called "Seal Team"- a program that, when activated, would send all the accounts scattering around the world on their way to Chocolate land. Then all the transactions and the "Seal Team' program would vanish, leaving only the clandestine accounts from the beginning with a $0 balance.
The kicker was that all the spreadsheets headed "Sonia's Copy," except for the "Seal Team" one, which headed "Sole Copy." Unless I missed something, she was going to abandon her fuck buddy in Madagascar penniless. I could hear her telling him, "I have a hair and nail appointment. I'll be back in about an hour and a half." It serves him right. But based on everything I had heard and read, it wasn't going to happen. I was already formulating the plan.
I photographed everything in the ledger, the itinerary, and the spreadsheets, and it turned out, all the codes for the accounts. Then I returned everything to their cubbyhole and just closing up when I saw the small notebook. I opened it and saw the last entry." $ 8500 to N.C. Beemer." North Coast Beemer. The entry said, "The fucking cuck makes me pay for my own car repairs. I'll fucking show him."
Something inside me died. I took $10000 out of her box, placed the rest of everything back in the box, and put the box back in the linen closet. There was a small chance of her missing it, as there was more than $175000 in the box. I put the t/p back, and the towels and cleaning supplies. I got up and went downstairs and called Pete. "I got a job for you, but it's personal." "No problem, boss. Where and when do you want to meet?" Denny's, in a half-hour." "O.K., see you then." I hung up and picked up a t-shirt to wear. Out the door, and me and my Bronco were cruising to Denny's.
I got a booth in the back and waited for about 5 minutes. Pete walked in, saw me, and walked over to me." O.K., boss, you sounded upset. What's going on?" "This stays between us and no one else. Understand? "Sure," he said as the waitress delivered coffee and a menu.
"Sonia is cheating on me. Every Tuesday, and Thursday, at the Radisson, with a guy from her work. One Marcus Blaine. I want pictures, video recordings, anything you can get."
"Wow, boss. That's the last thing I would have guessed. Are you sure?" "Yes, unfortunately." O.K., I can start Tuesday. I'll follow her from the time she leaves the house till she gets home." We had a quiet lunch, and I left to go food shopping. I picked up the groceries, and while I was walking around, I spotted some old-style diaper pins. I bought two cards of 12 each. I checked out and headed off to find a thrift shop.
After four stops, I found what I was looking for: a field jacket, ex-military type, coming just to my butt cheeks. Not very worn, and with a zip outliner. I paid cash and drove off looking for those Halloween stores that pop up at the beginning of October. I found one 15 miles out of town, in a small strip mall. I went in and bought a good quality, fake beard and mustache. I also picked up a scar appliance for my forehead, one for my left cheek, and a ball cap with a blonde wig. All paid for with cash from Sonia's box.
I drove home and took my goodies into the house and stored them in my small closet. (Guess who has the double walk-in?) She called about 5:30 and said she was on her way home and wanted Italian dinner out. I got to choose. (Whoopdeedo!!) I shit, showered, and shaved, and dressed nice. She breezed in and went up and soaked in her garden tub. Then, dressed like a high-priced courtesan, 4 ½ inch heels, and seamed stockings, she came down and beckoned me off the couch, and said, "Let's go." We went to Romano's, got a table, and had wine and drinks. Dinner was quiet, and she looked around, flirting occasionally. Finally, some guy came over and asked me if he could dance with my companion. "He doesn't own me," she said, as she rose and took his hand. He gave me a look, as I did a slow burn, and led her onto the dance floor.
To Be Continued...
