I received a $3.2 million retirement package. I rushed home to surprise my wife. When I walked…
I received a $3.2 million retirement package after 30 years with Morrison Engineering.
I grabbed my briefcase, my company award plaque, and rushed home 2 hours early to surprise my wife.
When I walked through our front door, I heard her voice from upstairs. She was on the phone saying,
“Don’t worry. Once the divorce is final, we’ll have at least half of that, maybe more if his lawyer is incompetent.”
I froze at the bottom of our oak staircase.
The same staircase where we’d taken Christmas photos for 28 years. The same staircase where I’d carried her over the threshold when we bought this house in 1997.
My name is Robert Mitchell. I’m 62 years old.
That morning, I’d received the retirement package of my dreams. 30 years of 12-hour days, weekend projects, missed family dinners, all culminating in one moment.
My boss, Frank, had shaken my hand, tears in his eyes, telling me I’d earned every penny. The company had thrown me a party.
My colleagues had given me a gold watch. I’d driven home with the signed papers sitting in my passenger seat, imagining my wife Linda’s face when I told her we were finally, finally financially secure for life.
Instead, I was standing in my own foyer, listening to my wife plan my financial destruction.
I didn’t go upstairs. I didn’t confront her.
I quietly set down my briefcase, walked back to my car, and drove to a coffee shop 3 mi away. My hands were shaking so badly, I could barely hold my phone.
For the next hour, I sat in that coffee shop, replaying every moment of our marriage. Had there been signs?
Of course, there had been.
Linda had become distant over the past year. She’d started going to the gym five times a week. New clothes, new haircut.
She’d password protected her phone for the first time in our marriage. When I’d asked about it, she’d laughed and said,
“Robert, everyone has passwords now. Don’t be so old-fashioned.”
I’d believed her because I trusted her, because I’d spent 30 years building a life with her.
But sitting in that coffee shop, I realized something crucial.
Linda didn’t know about the retirement package yet. The official announcement wouldn’t hit my company email until tomorrow. She couldn’t have known, which meant she’d been planning this divorce anyway, probably assuming I’d just get my regular pension.
The 3.2 million was an unexpected bonus she’d just found out about somehow.
I pulled out my phone and called my colleague Dave from it.
Dave, I said, keeping my voice steady.
I need to ask you something. Who has access to view employee retirement packages before they’re officially announced?
There was a pause.
Just HR and the executive team.
Why can you check if anyone accessed my file in the last 24 hours?
Another pause.
Rob, I could get in trouble for that.
Dave, please. It’s important.
10 minutes later, Dave called me back.
Your file was accessed yesterday at 2:15 p.m.
by Margaret Chen from HR.
But Rob, there’s something else.
The file was forwarded to an external email address.
Can you see the address?
It’s David Thompson thmpsonfinanc.com.
David Thompson Financial Consulting.
I Googled it right there in the coffee shop. The website showed a professional photo of a man in his early 40s. Handsome, fit, smiling.
Services included retirement planning, divorce, financial advising, and asset protection.
I sat back in my chair.
[snorts] So that was who she was talking to. not just a financial adviser, a divorce financial adviser.
And someone in HR, Margaret Chen, had illegally forwarded my confidential information to him.
Margaret Chen. I knew Margaret.
She’d worked at Morrison for 5 years. She’d never seemed particularly friendly with Linda. But then again, I’d never paid attention.
I’d been too busy working.
I drove home 3 hours later. Linda was in the kitchen making dinner like nothing had happened. She smiled when she saw me.
“You’re home late,” she said.
“How was your day?”
I looked at her.
Really looked at her. This woman I’d loved for 28 years, the mother of my children, the person I’d built my entire adult life around.
“It was fine,” I said, just wrapping up some final projects.
I didn’t tell her about the retirement package. I didn’t tell her anything.
I went upstairs, changed my clothes, and came back down for dinner.
We ate lasagna. We watched television. We went to bed.
And the entire time, my mind was racing with one single thought.
I needed a plan.
The next morning, I woke up at 6:00 a.m. Linda was still sleeping. I drove to a law office in the next town over, 30 m from anyone who might know us.
The lawyer’s name was Patricia Morrison, no relation to my former company.
I’d found her online. She specialized in high asset divorces.
Patricia was a woman in her mid-50s with sharp eyes and a sharper suit. I told her everything.
The retirement package, the phone conversation I’d overheard, the forwarded email from HR.
She leaned back in her chair.
Mr. Mitchell, I’m going to be very direct with you.
Your wife is planning to divorce you and take half of your retirement package, possibly more if she can prove she contributed to your career success, which in a 28-year marriage she probably can.
However, we have several significant advantages, which are
[snorts] first, she doesn’t know that you know.
Second, the HR employee who forwarded your information committed a federal crime under privacy laws.
Third, if we can prove your wife is having an affair with this financial adviser, that’s adultery, which Virginia still considers in divorce proceedings.
And fourth, you haven’t officially received the money yet. The papers are signed, but the fund transfer doesn’t happen for 30 days per your company policy.
So, what do I do?
Patricia smiled.
It wasn’t a warm smile.
It was the smile of someone who’d won many battles.
You play along. You act normal. You gather evidence and in 30 days we make sure that retirement package is protected in ways she can’t touch.
I left her office with a list of instructions.
Document everything. Record conversations where legal. Hire a private investigator.
Don’t move any money yet. Don’t change any passwords. Don’t let her know you suspect anything.
For the next week, I played the role of oblivious husband.
I went to my farewell lunches with colleagues. I cleaned out my office. I brought home my desk plants and engineering awards.
Linda helped me set up a home office.
She was attentive, loving. She asked about my retirement plans.
I was thinking we could finally take that trip to Italy, she said one night over wine.
You’ve always wanted to see Rome.
That sounds wonderful, I said.
We should start planning.
She squeezed my hand.
I’m so proud of you, Robert.
30 years.
You worked so hard.
I squeezed back.
We built this life together.
The lies tasted like ash in my mouth.
Meanwhile, I hired a private investigator named Marcus Shaw. Marcus was a former police detective, late 50s, professional, discreet.
I gave him David Thompson’s information. I gave him Linda’s schedule. I authorized whatever he needed to spend.
Marcus called me 4 days later.
Mr.
Mitchell, I have what you need.
Can you come to my office?
I drove there immediately. Marcus had a folder waiting for me.
Inside were photographs. Linda and David Thompson having lunch at a restaurant in Richmond, 40 mi from our home.
Linda and David Thompson entering a hotel. Timestamps, dates.
The affair had been going on for 7 months.
There’s more, Marcus said.
I did some digging on Thompson.
He specializes in helping wives maximize divorce settlements.
His website says he offers pre-ivorce asset analysis.
What that really means is he helps identify and plan how to extract maximum value from a marriage before filing.
He’s been involved in at least 12 divorces in the past 3 years.
In 10 of them, his female clients walked away with significantly more than 50%.
How various tactics hiding assets before filing strategic timing.
In two cases, there’s evidence he coached the wives to create paper trails suggesting financial abuse or control by the husband.
He’s smart.
He’s careful, but he’s also greedy.
He takes a percentage of the settlement as his fee.
I looked at the photographs. Linda smiling at this man.
Linda kissing this man in a hotel parking lot. Linda with her hand on his arm.
Get me everything, I said.
every meeting, every communication, everything
already on it,” Marcus said.
I went home. Linda was making my favorite pot roast.
She asked about my day.
I told her I’d been playing golf.
She believed me.
Why wouldn’t she?
I’d never lied to her in 28 years.
That night, I lay
