Chapter 2 - Handle the House
I didn't touch the broom.
That decision felt strangely important.
Lauren had positioned it against the kitchen island as if it were waiting for me.
Instead, I sat beside it and searched for commercial cleaning companies.
The first company couldn't come until tomorrow.
The second had availability.
“How large is the property?” the dispatcher asked.
“Approximately thirty-two hundred square feet.”
“What level of cleaning?”
I looked toward the bathroom.
“Whatever level comes immediately before demolishing it.”
She laughed.
I didn't.
“I need a same-day deep clean, bathrooms sanitized, kitchen degreased, floors steam-cleaned, laundry processed, linens replaced, and all accumulated trash removed.”
“We can send eight people.”
“Send eight.”
There was an emergency surcharge.
I accepted it.
Rodrigo had told me to use his card and handle the house.
I intended to follow his instructions precisely.
Next came accommodation.
I called the Henderson Beach Resort.
“I'm checking whether a reservation under Daniela Morales was recently canceled.”
After verifying my information, the representative found it.
“Yes, ma'am. It was canceled three days ago.”
“Who canceled it?”
“The reservation was modified through the account used to make the booking.”
Rodrigo.
Of course.
“Do you have an oceanfront suite available?”
There was a pause.
“We have one premium suite.”
“I'll take it for fourteen nights.”
I used the card.
Then I called a private chauffeur.
By the time the cleaning crew arrived, I had already packed the few things I'd removed from my suitcase.
Eight workers entered.
One looked around.
“Big party?”
“Apparently.”
They went to work.
I sat outside beneath a palm tree and called an attorney.
Not a random attorney.
Monica Reed.
My college roommate.
She practiced family law in Atlanta.
When she answered, she immediately knew something was wrong.
“You never call during vacation.”
“I don't think I'm on vacation anymore.”
I explained everything.
Monica remained silent for several seconds after I finished.
“Daniela, I need you to preserve every record.”
“I already screenshotted the transfer.”
“Good. Screenshot the destination. Save the hotel cancellation confirmation. Do not access anything you're not legally entitled to access.”
“I won't.”
“And stop using his corporate card for anything unrelated to what he explicitly authorized.”
I glanced through the window at eight cleaners.
“He told me to handle the house.”
Monica groaned.
“What did you do?”
“Handled it.”
“Daniela.”
“Professionally.”
She laughed despite herself.
Then her voice became serious.
“Come home.”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I've spent ten months earning this vacation.”
There was silence.
Then Monica said, “That might be the most Daniela sentence you've ever said.”
I booked dinner next.
The original version of my revenge was admittedly petty.
Rodrigo wanted steak.
Lauren wanted somebody else to cook.
George wanted his house spotless.
Fine.
I arranged a deliberately absurd delivery: raw marrow bones, plain crackers, and an itemized catering bill that made it impossible to mistake the message.
But I didn't plan to be there when they saw it.
At 5:45, my chauffeur arrived.
The house looked immaculate.
I wheeled my suitcase outside.
Then George's truck turned into the driveway.
Perfect timing.
The doors opened.
Rodrigo climbed out first.
Sunburned.
Happy.
Then he saw the SUV.
Then me.
His expression collapsed.
“Daniela?”
Lauren climbed out behind him.
“What is this?”
“My ride.”
Rodrigo walked toward me.
“Where are you going?”
“The hotel.”
“What hotel?”
“The one you canceled.”
His face changed.
“You rebooked it?”
“Yes.”
“With what money?”
I held up his card.
For one beautiful second, nobody spoke.
Then Lauren ran inside.
Her scream came thirty seconds later.
“What the hell?”
She reappeared holding the catering receipt.
“Rodrigo!”
He looked at the total.
His phone began vibrating.
Then vibrating again.
Then again.
Cleaning company.
Hotel.
Transportation.
Catering.
Fraud alerts lit his screen.
His face went crimson.
“You spent how much?”
“You told me to handle the house.”
“I meant groceries!”
“You didn't say groceries.”
“I gave you my card!”
“Yes.”
“That doesn't mean you can go insane!”
I opened the SUV door.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You apparently believe taking somebody else's money without permission is insane.”
He froze.
George stopped smiling.
Lauren looked between us.
Rodrigo lowered his voice.
“Daniela.”
“You transferred $2,850 out of my account.”
“That was vacation money.”
“You sent it to George.”
George's face changed.
I saw it.
Not surprise.
Guilt.
That told me everything.
“You both knew.”
Neither answered.
“You knew I would arrive here with twelve dollars.”
Rodrigo stepped closer.
“Don't make this bigger than it is.”
“It became bigger when you deliberately stranded me.”
“You're my wife!”
“And apparently your ATM.”
I climbed into the SUV.
Rodrigo grabbed the door before I could close it.
“You are not leaving.”
The chauffeur immediately turned around.
“Sir, release the vehicle door.”
Rodrigo hesitated.
I stared directly at him.
“My attorney has the transfer records.”
His hand disappeared.
“What attorney?”
“Mine.”
His face went pale.
“You called a lawyer?”
“I did more than call.”
That wasn't entirely true yet.
But it would be.
Lauren whispered, “Rodrigo, what did you do?”
For the first time, I realized she might not know everything.
Interesting.
I closed the door.
Before the SUV pulled away, I lowered the window.
“Enjoy the clean floors, Rodrigo.”
He stared at me.
“You'll be sleeping on them.”
The window rose.
The house disappeared behind us.
I thought that would be the end of the day's surprises.
It wasn't.
Twenty minutes later, Monica called.
“Daniela, I started reviewing the documents you sent.”
“And?”
“Your vacation money isn't the problem.”
My stomach tightened.
“What is?”
She paused.
May you like
“I think Rodrigo has been moving money for months.”
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