Chapter 8
While I was closing multi-million-dollar deals, Daniel was experiencing a harsh collision with reality across town.
Living in Vivian’s cramped, outdated two-room apartment was a nightmare for a man who had spent three years pretending to be a high-flying finance executive. The air conditioner rattled loudly, the kitchen was cluttered with expired canned goods, and Vivian’s non-stop nagging was grating on his already frayed nerves.
“Daniel! Stop pacing around like a caged animal and fix the kitchen sink!” Vivian barked from the living room, pointing a wooden spoon at him. “And stop feeling sorry for yourself! That ungrateful wife of yours needs to be taught a real lesson. You need to sue her!”
Daniel slumped onto the saggy floral sofa, rubbing his temples. “Mom, I can’t just sue her. Did you forget about the prenup? I signed it before we got married because I thought she was just some quiet, pushover designer. She owns everything! The apartment, the cars, even the bank account we were using for groceries!”
“Well, you’re her husband!” Vivian shrieked, slamming her spoon onto the counter. “By law, a wife has to support her husband! Go down to the joint account and withdraw our funds!”
Daniel froze, a sick feeling twisting in his stomach. He hadn't thought of that yet. He scrambled for his phone, opening the banking app to check the balance of the shared account—the one funded entirely by my salary that he used for his personal luxuries.
He tapped his password, waited for the screen to load, and watched his face turn completely pale.
The balance read: $0.00.
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Below it sat a notification: Account frozen and transferred to primary holder by court order.
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