I never told my cheating husband that I was nominated to the Supreme Court. He served me divorce papers at dinner, laughing with his mistress. “I’m taking the house and the kids. You’re just a weak paralegal.” He didn’t know his mistress was actually an embezzler on the run. The police stormed the restaurant. She screamed, “Call your lawyer!” My husband looked at me, pleading for help. I stood up, put on my robe from my bag, and smiled. “I don’t defend criminals,” I said. “I sentence them.”

“I’m filing for divorce,” he said smugly. “I’m keeping the house. The savings. Lauren and I are building something real. You’re just dead weight.”

Lauren laughed softly, eyes cold.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she purred. “I’m sure you can manage a tiny studio somewhere on your salary. Ethan needs a woman who understands power.”

I picked up the papers.

No tears.
No yelling.

Training took over.

“Your attorney misspelled plaintiff,” I said calmly. “And cited a case overturned twenty years ago.”

Ethan blinked. “Who cares? Look at the terms!”

“I am. You’re requesting spousal support based on ‘future earnings.’ You haven’t made a profit in six years. My income funded your ‘business.’”

“That’s changing!” he yelled. “Lauren has investors! I’ll destroy you in court!”

“You’re embarrassing,” I said quietly.

“Shut up!” he roared. “You’re nothing!”

Then—

Sirens.

Blue and red lights flooded the windows.

“NOBODY MOVE. FBI.”

Chaos erupted.

Agents stormed in.

Lauren froze.

“Lauren Pierce, also known as ‘The Black Widow of Wall Street,’” the lead agent announced. “You are under arrest for wire fraud, embezzlement, and identity theft.”

Her face drained of color.

“She’s an investor!” Ethan shouted.