Chapter 3 · The $2.96 Divorce

Ben shouted, "What the hell? Michael, are you crazy? You're divorcing Charlotte? Why?"

On the other end of the line, my best friend and personal lawyer, Ben Walker, was shouting so loud I thought my eardrum might burst.

I leaned against the cold stone pillar outside the auction house, watching the endless stream of cars, feeling like the whole world had faded to gray.

I said, "Don't ask why, write it up. When it comes to splitting the assets, she gets all the houses, cars, and money in my name. I just want the company."

Ben went quiet.

After a full thirty seconds, he finally spoke, his voice tangled with worry and confusion. "Are you seeing someone else? Or did you get some kind of terminal illness? Don't freak me out, man."

"Neither," I replied, my voice as lifeless as a puddle. "It's because she messed with my money."

Ben asked, "She messed with your money? How much did she take? Did she drain your company dry?"

I said, "Two dollars and ninety-six cents."

Ben said nothing.

There was dead silence on the other end of the line.

This time, the silence dragged on even longer, and felt way more awkward.

I could almost see Ben's chubby face right now, his expression screaming, 'Dude, are you freaking kidding me?'

Ben stammered, "Michael, say that again. How much?"

I repeated, "Two dollars and ninety-six cents."

Ben said, "Come on, man, can you stop messing around? I've got a ton of cases to handle. Are you drunk or something? You're really divorcing her over three bucks? It's not even April Fools' Day."

"I'm stone cold sober," I cut him off. "Ben, we're brothers. Just tell me, are you gonna help me out or not?"

Ben let out a sigh, his tone softening.

Ben said, "Mike, seriously, what's going on? be straight with me. Every couple fights, you know that. Charlotte's got that princess attitude, but she loves you. Seven years, man. Did you forget how hard you chased her back then? Over three bucks?

I didn't want to explain.

How was I supposed to explain?

Tell him I can see the future in my dreams? Tell him that because of two dollars and ninety-six cents, I'd lose everything and end up throwing myself off the thirtieth floor?

He'd probably have me committed to a mental hospital on the spot.

"Just treat me like I'm crazy," I said, closing my eyes in exhaustion. "Get the agreement ready and send it to my email. I've made up my mind."

With that, I hung up.

I didn't go home.

The place that once felt like my sanctuary now seemed like nothing but the gateway to hell.

I sat down at a roadside roadside grill and ordered a whole case of beer.

The cold beer slid down my throat, but it couldn't smother the fire burning in my gut.

It was despair, it was anger, and a sadness so absurd it almost felt unreal.

I wasn't blaming Charlotte.

I knew she didn't do it on purpose.

That "Penny Saver" app? I knew it was Charlotte's deadbeat brother Harry Summers's favorite thing to mess with.

He was always looking for ways to get a little extra cash, always trying to save up some pocket money.

Harry probably fiddled with her phone and activated it without a second thought.

Charlotte was too naive, too trusting, and never really listened to me.

I must've told her a thousand times, not to mess with my money, not even a penny.

She always said she wouldn't.

And guess what happened?

Out of the 26.7 million dollars that could make or break me, her useless brother had swiped 2.96 dollars like it was nothing.

This wasn't about the money.

This was life or death.

She was the one who personally cut off my only way out.

I kept chugging beer after beer, my phone buzzing like crazy next to me.

Every single call was from Charlotte.

I didn't pick up a single one.

As the sky started to lighten, I finished my last bottle of beer and staggered to my feet.

My phone buzzed with a new email.

Ben had sent over the divorce agreement.

The attachment was named "Michael, chill out."

I let out a self-mocking laugh, opened it up, downloaded it, edited it on my phone, and signed my name at the bottom.

Then I forwarded it to Charlotte.

After that, I pulled out my SIM card and chucked it into a nearby drain.

Finally, the world was quiet.

I grabbed a cab and headed to the office.

Since every escape route was cut off, I'd have to carve out a way to survive, even if it meant fighting through a dead end.

From this day forward, I, Michael Carter, would live for myself.

Chapter 3

Ben shouted, "What the hell? Michael, are you crazy? You're divorcing Charlotte? Why?"

On the other end of the line, my best friend and personal lawyer, Ben Walker, was shouting so loud I thought my eardrum might burst.

I leaned against the cold stone pillar outside the auction house, watching the endless stream of cars, feeling like the whole world had faded to gray.

I said, "Don't ask why, write it up. When it comes to splitting the assets, she gets all the houses, cars, and money in my name. I just want the company."

Ben went quiet.

After a full thirty seconds, he finally spoke, his voice tangled with worry and confusion. "Are you seeing someone else? Or did you get some kind of terminal illness? Don't freak me out, man."

"Neither," I replied, my voice as lifeless as a puddle. "It's because she messed with my money."

Ben asked, "She messed with your money? How much did she take? Did she drain your company dry?"

I said, "Two dollars and ninety-six cents."

Ben said nothing.

There was dead silence on the other end of the line.

This time, the silence dragged on even longer, and felt way more awkward.

I could almost see Ben's chubby face right now, his expression screaming, 'Dude, are you freaking kidding me?'

Ben stammered, "Michael, say that again. How much?"

I repeated, "Two dollars and ninety-six cents."

Ben said, "Come on, man, can you stop messing around? I've got a ton of cases to handle. Are you drunk or something? You're really divorcing her over three bucks? It's not even April Fools' Day."

"I'm stone cold sober," I cut him off. "Ben, we're brothers. Just tell me, are you gonna help me out or not?"

Ben let out a sigh, his tone softening.

I didn't want to explain.

How was I supposed to explain?

Tell him I can see the future in my dreams? Tell him that because of two dollars and ninety-six cents, I'd lose everything and end up throwing myself off the thirtieth floor?

He'd probably have me committed to a mental hospital on the spot.

"Just treat me like I'm crazy," I said, closing my eyes in exhaustion. "Get the agreement ready and send it to my email. I've made up my mind."

With that, I hung up.

I didn't go home.

The place that once felt like my sanctuary now seemed like nothing but the gateway to hell.

I sat down at a roadside roadside grill and ordered a whole case of beer.

The cold beer slid down my throat, but it couldn't smother the fire burning in my gut.

It was despair, it was anger, and a sadness so absurd it almost felt unreal.

I wasn't blaming Charlotte.

I knew she didn't do it on purpose.

That "Penny Saver" app? I knew it was Charlotte's deadbeat brother Harry Summers's favorite thing to mess with.

He was always looking for ways to get a little extra cash, always trying to save up some pocket money.

Harry probably fiddled with her phone and activated it without a second thought.

Charlotte was too naive, too trusting, and never really listened to me.

I must've told her a thousand times, not to mess with my money, not even a penny.

She always said she wouldn't.

And guess what happened?

Out of the 26.7 million dollars that could make or break me, her useless brother had swiped 2.96 dollars like it was nothing.

This wasn't about the money.

This was life or death.

She was the one who personally cut off my only way out.

I kept chugging beer after beer, my phone buzzing like crazy next to me.

Every single call was from Charlotte.

I didn't pick up a single one.

As the sky started to lighten, I finished my last bottle of beer and staggered to my feet.

My phone buzzed with a new email.

Ben had sent over the divorce agreement.

The attachment was named "Michael, chill out."

I let out a self-mocking laugh, opened it up, downloaded it, edited it on my phone, and signed my name at the bottom.

Then I forwarded it to Charlotte.

After that, I pulled out my SIM card and chucked it into a nearby drain.

Finally, the world was quiet.

I grabbed a cab and headed to the office.

Since every escape route was cut off, I'd have to carve out a way to survive, even if it meant fighting through a dead end.

From this day forward, I, Michael Carter, would live for myself.