The Passenger Seat Set to Recline

My husband just bought a new car, saying it would be safer for picking up me and our daughter from now on.

Today there was a torrential downpour, so I opened the car company's app, wanting to turn on the air conditioning for him in advance.

But the location wasn't at his office at allit was at the City Maternity Hospital.

I clicked on the vehicle status and froze.

The passenger seat memory had been adjusted to "pregnant woman recline mode."

The rear entertainment screen was playing "Prenatal Music Collection."

And my daughter was standing at the elementary school entrance with a broken umbrella, waiting for him to pick her up.

I silently saved the driving route and called an Uber for my daughter.

When I got home, my daughter had already finished dinner and was doing homework.

The Uber I called arrived half an hour before Brooks did.

When he came through the door, he was soaked through, looking exhausted.

"Traffic was insane out there. This rain is unreal." He complained while changing his shoes.

"Did you pick up Bonnie?"

"Yeah, I called a car for her," I said flatly.

He paused, then put on a guilty expression. "Ah, that's my fault. The office had a last-minute meeting I couldn't get out of. Sorry you and the kid had to deal with that."

He walked over to hug me.

I stepped aside and handed him a dry towel.

"Go take a shower. Don't catch a cold."

He didn't notice anything unusual about me and headed to the bathroom with the towel.

I picked up his phone. Face recognition unlocked it instantly.

At the top were messages from me, our daughter's class group chat, and the company group.

Scrolling down, everything was work-related.

I opened his photo album. The recently deleted folder was empty.

He was careful, but the car wasn't.

I opened my phone and clicked on the car app.

In the vehicle data, there was an energy consumption log.

Every trip's starting point, destination, duration, and power consumption were crystal clear.

At 3 PM, departure from his office, destination City Maternity Hospital, stop duration one hour and twenty minutes.

Then, departure from the maternity hospital, destination a residential complex I'd never been to.

Golden Sky, one of the most upscale developments in the city, twelve thousand dollars per square foot.

The car was still parked there.

So how did he get home?

I zoomed in on the map. Right next to Golden Sky was a subway station.

The sound of running water in the bathroom stopped.

Brooks came out wrapped in a bathrobe, his hair still dripping.

"Honey, come help me dry my hair." He smiled at me.

I walked over and picked up the hairdryer.

The warm air blew through his hair and across the skin of his neck.

There was a long hair therenot mine.

My hair was long, straight, and black. This one was brown and wavy.

I didn't move it.

After drying his hair, he went to the study to work overtime, satisfied.

I returned to the bedroom and closed the door.

I opened our joint bank account.

On the 15th of this month, there was a fifty-thousand-dollar withdrawal.

Description: Sister's loan.

Brooks was an only child. Where did he get a sister?

I scrolled back.

Last month on the 15th, fifty thousand.

The month before that on the 15th, fifty thousand.

This "sister's loan" had been going on for half a year.

Every month, right on schedule.

Six months, three hundred thousand dollars. Exactly the price of that car.

My hands felt cold.

I closed the banking app.

I opened Brooks's Twitter.

Three months ago, he'd posted something.

"My little sister's all grown up, coming to the big city to make it. Gotta take good care of her."

The attached photo showed a girl's silhouette standing at an airport exit, wearing a white dress, pulling a pink suitcase.

At the time, I'd even commented below: "Your sister looks beautiful, when are you bringing her home to visit?"

He'd replied: "She just got here, she's shy. I'll bring her over once she's settled in."

Looking back now, this was probably that sister.

A sister who needed him to drive a three-hundred-thousand-dollar car, adjust it to pregnant woman mode, play prenatal music, and take her for prenatal checkups at the maternity hospital.

The next day, I took half a day off.

I didn't go to Golden Sky.

I knew he wouldn't hide that woman in such an obvious place.

Golden Sky was most likely rented or bought by him for convenient meetings.

I went to Brooks's company.

The company we'd founded together. Although I was basically semi-retired now, the receptionist and veteran employees still recognized me.

"Lester's here."

"Lester, what brings you in today?"

I smiled and nodded in response.

I went straight to the finance office. The CFO was someone I'd personally hired.

"Betty, I need a favor."

I gave her the name and passport information for Brooks's "sister."

I'd found this information from the bank transfer records.

Payee: Marta.

"Help me check if this person has any business dealings with our company, or if she's related to any employee who submitted expense reimbursements."

Betty was smart. She didn't ask any questions, just nodded.

"Lester, give me a moment."

Half an hour later, Betty placed a file in front of me.

"Lester, this Marta interned in our design department for three months last year."

"She didn't stay after the internship?"

Betty shook her head. "At the time, her direct supervisor's evaluation was that her abilities were mediocre and her attitude flighty. So she wasn't offered a permanent position."

"Who was her direct supervisor?"

"Mark, the design department manager."

I picked up my phone and called Mark directly.

I arranged to meet him at the coffee shop downstairs from the office.

When Mark saw me, he seemed nervous.

"Lester, you wanted to see me?"

"Mark, relax. I just want to ask you something. Last year, did you have an intern named Marta?"

Mark's expression immediately became somewhat strange.

"Yes... there was someone like that."

"Why wasn't she given a permanent position?"

Mark hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Lester, about this... I wasn't planning to say anything. This Marta, during her internship, her mind wasn't on her work at all. Every day she'd dress up to the nines and run to Brooks's office."

My heart sank.

"Brooks said she was a child of some distant relatives, asked me to take care of her. But she... the designs she produced were just sloppy. I called her out on it twice, and she threw the files on my desk, saying I didn't appreciate them."

Mark sighed. "Then one time, I personally saw... her getting out of Brooks's car, and on her neck... there were lipstick marks."

The coffee shop's air conditioning was strong, but I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Just a few of us old-timers in the department. Everyone kept quiet out of respect for Brooks. Later when she didn't get the permanent position, we all thought the matter was over."

Over?

No, it had just continued in a more covert way.

From company intern to "shy little sister."

I thanked Mark and went back to the office.

Betty was still waiting for me. She handed me another file.

"Lester, I also checked Brooks's personal expense reimbursements from the past six months. There are a few that I found... odd."

I took it. One was a five-star hotel dining receipt for thirty-eight thousand dollars.

Reason: Important client entertainment.

But the receipt date was our daughter's birthday.

That day, Brooks told me a client had a last-minute appointment, he had to entertain them, and came home very late.

Our daughter waited for him to cut the cake until she fell asleep.

The second one was a purchase record from the Herms boutique, eighty-six thousand dollars.

Reimbursement category: Client gifts.

The third was a deposit receipt from an upscale maternity center next to Golden Sky, fifty thousand dollars.

Reimbursement category: Company team-building venue reservation.

I looked at that maternity center receipt. The customer signature was in Brooks's handwriting.

I gripped the papers in my hand.

The edges of the paper dug painfully into my palm.

Betty looked at me, concern in her eyes.

"Lester, are you..."

"I'm fine."

I stood up. "Betty, thank you for today. Please keep this completely confidential."

"You have my word."

I walked out of the office building. The sunlight was blinding.

I suddenly remembered that when I got married, I never bought any Herms.

Brooks said those things were an intelligence tax, that the money would be better spent on solid investments.

I believed him.

I saved money for him, for this family.

He took the money we earned together and paid that "intelligence tax" for another woman.

Using the company's name, no less.

I didn't go home.

I took a cab to Golden Sky.

The security at the upscale complex was tight. I couldn't get in.

I sat down at a coffee shop across from the complex entrance and ordered an iced Americano.

Facing the main gate directly.

At 4 PM, a white Porsche Panamera drove into the complex.

The driver was a young woman, with big waves in her hair and exquisite makeup.

I recognized herthe silhouette of Brooks's "sister" from his social media.

Marta.

She was pregnant, her belly already quite prominent, probably six or seven months along.

She parked the car, carried several luxury brand shopping bags, and walked into the building entrance with an elegant posture.

That Porsche, market price over a million dollars.

Brooks's "sister," an intern with mediocre abilities and a flighty attitude, driving a million-dollar luxury car, living in a multimillion-dollar mansion.

Who would believe it?

I sat there until dark.

At 7:30, Brooks's car arrived.

He got out, carrying a thermos container.

It was the chicken soup I'd prepared for him this morning.

He said he'd be working late with the team tonight, asked me to make extra so he could take it to the office for everyone.

Now, that thermos had appeared at Golden Sky.

He swiped the access card expertly and walked into the building.

A few minutes later, a window on the 18th floor lit up.

I looked at that window.

My phone rang. It was Brooks.

"Honey, just finished the meeting, I'm exhausted. What are you doing at home?"

His voice carried a hint of laughter, sounding like he was in a good mood.

"Getting ready for bed."

"So early? Where's Bonnie?"

"Finished her homework, watching TV."

"Mm, I'll probably be home late tonight, still have some project details to hammer out. You and Bonnie go to bed early, don't wait up for me."

"Okay."

I hung up.

I looked at the lights on the 18th floor.

His project, his team, were all behind that window.

I took out my phone and started searching for information on Marta.

Her social media name was "Princess Marta," very fitting for her image.

The account was private, but the profile picture wasn't lockedit was a selfie.

The background showed a yacht, sea breeze blowing through her long hair, her smile radiant.

Around her neck was a necklace, a Bvlgari charity edition.

I had one too. Two years ago on our wedding anniversary, I'd dragged Brooks to buy it.

At the time, he said the chain was too thin and small, terrible value.

I said it was a gift for our first wedding anniversary, the meaning was different.

He couldn't argue with me, so he bought it.

Now, an identical necklace hung around Marta's neck.

I continued scrolling through her profile.

Although the content was private, the likes list was public.

I saw a familiar avatarBrooks's alternate account.

He'd told me this account was for gaming, with only a few people on the friends list.

He'd liked every single one of Marta's posts.

Following the trail, I clicked into his alternate account's profile.

The photo album was locked, but I could see the cover photo.

Two hands, a man's hand and a woman's hand.

Fingers intertwined, the woman's hand wearing a huge diamond ring, the size of a pigeon egg.

The background was the Eiffel Tower.

Date taken: October last year.

Last October, Brooks said he was going on a two-week business trip to Europe to research the market.

I'd specifically bought him a thick coat, reminding him it was cold there and to dress warmly.

Turns out, his "market research" was taking Marta to Paris to buy a diamond ring.

I opened Marta's other social media platform.

This account was public, mostly photos of quiet beautiful moments and inspirational quotes.

One post from six months ago stood out.

"The arrival of new life is heaven's best gift. Thank you, husband, for giving me a home."

The attached images showed an ultrasound report.

And a pregnancy test with two red lines.

The first comment was from Brooks's gaming alternate account.

He'd commented two words: "My love." Followed by a heart emoji.

I stared at his comment.

He had two wives.

One was mewho'd built the company with him from nothing, bore and raised his child, stayed home cooking and keeping house.

The other was Martayoung and beautiful, able to satisfy all his vanity, carrying his "son."

I closed my phone.

The iced Americano had melted into water. Not cold at all anymore.

The next few days.

Picking up my daughter, cooking, handling household chores.

Brooks didn't notice anything unusual. He was even more attentive than before.

He'd proactively buy me gifts, saying "you've worked hard."

He gave me a lipstick.

Probably from some "gifts for your wife that can't go wrong" list he'd found somewhere.

He didn't know I'd stopped wearing that color long ago.

I smiled and accepted it. "Thank you."

He was satisfied.

Thinking a three-hundred-dollar lipstick could smooth over all his debts.

Behind his back, I met with two people.

The first was my college senior Tony, who now ran his own cybersecurity company.

I gave him all of Brooks's and Marta's social media accounts.

"Tony, I need a favor. I need all their chat logs, emails, cloud storage content. Everything."

My senior looked at me. "Lester, this is illegal."

"I know." I looked at him. "But I've been wronged right in my own home. I need to know where I lost."

Tony was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"Three days."

The second person was my father.

My father was an entrepreneur of the old generation, self-made, lived his whole life upright and honest, hated nothing more than betrayal.

Our company was something Brooks and I built together after marriage, but the startup capital came from my father.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

At the time, Brooks had beaten his chest promising my father: "Don't worry, I'll never let Lester down in this lifetime."

My father had designated that five hundred thousand as my premarital property, clearly stating it was a gift to me alone.

But when registering the company, Brooks said that husband and wife were one, shares should be 60% his, 40% minethat way he'd have more face when doing business outside.

I loved him then, trusted him. I said okay.

Now, he was using that 60% stake to keep a mistress outside, raise an illegitimate child, buy cars and houses.

I met my father at the old family estate.

I laid everything out.

From the car app to the maternity center.

My father listened without a word.

He smoked half a pack of cigarettes until the study was thick with smoke.

Finally, he crushed the cigarette butt in the ashtray.

"Lester, what do you want to do?"

"Dad, I want to take back everything that belongs to me."

"What about the company?"

"The company is something he and I built together. I can't let him take my life's work and use it as a dowry for someone else."

My father looked at me, heartache in his eyes.

"Alright." He said just one word.

"Dad, I need you to help me contact someone."

"Who?"

"Weber."

Weber was my father's old war buddy who later transferred to the tax system. He was retired now.

But I knew his connections and prestige were still intact.

My father understood what I meant.

"I'll arrange it."

Three days later, Tony gave me a hard drive.

Inside were all of Brooks's and Marta's communication records.

I spent an entire night reading through everything.

Their chats had started two years ago.

Back then, Marta was a new intern at the company.

Brooks was the high-and-mighty boss.

Their conversations were full of the tacit pulling and testing between adults.

Marta would send him some suggestive selfies.

"Brooks, does this outfit look good today?"

Brooks would reply: "Too good, not suitable for the office."

Marta: "Then where is it suitable for?"

Brooks: "In my car."

I saw records of their first hotel rendezvous, at a hotel right next to the office.

That day, Brooks told me he had to work overtime.

I saw the long message Marta sent Brooks after getting pregnant.

"Brooks, I'm so scared. I haven't even graduated yet. I can't let the child be born without status. Lester is so wonderful, I don't want to destroy your family. Maybe... I should just abort the baby."

Every word, every sentence talked about "abortion," but every single word was actually an ultimatum.

Brooks's reply was long.

"Marta, don't be afraid. I'm sorry you have to go through this. Don't worry, you're the person I've wronged most in this life. She and I have no feelings left, we're just going through the motions. Once the child is born, I'll have a showdown with her. The company, the house, the careverything will belong to us and the child from now on."

I saw the company equity structure diagram he'd sent to Marta.

He'd circled his 60% in red pen, with a note beside it: "This will all be my son's someday."

I saw a draft divorce agreement he'd made, stored in his private cloud.

Party A: Brooks.

Party B: Lester.

Property division:

The house we lived in together after marriage goes to me. But I must bear the remaining twenty years of mortgage payments.

The eight-year-old BMW Mini in my name goes to me.

Custody of our daughter goes to me. He'll pay three thousand dollars monthly in child support.

The company equity, as his premarital investment return, has nothing to do with me.

Deposits and investments in his name also have nothing to do with me.

He planned to leave me with nothing.

He wanted to kick my daughter and me out of the life we'd built together.

At the bottom was another note.

"Lester has a gentle personality and no opinions of her own. She should sign quickly."

I stared at that line. Gentle personality, no opinions of her own.

I put away the hard drive.

Then I dialed Weber's number.