At our divorce hearing, my husband presented fake psych reports to steal my assets. “You’ll be starving on the street,” he laughed, holding his mistress’s hand. He thought I was just a broken, silent victim. I didn’t argue or cry. I calmly unbuttoned my silk blouse. When they saw what covering my chest and arms, the judge gasped. The entire courtroom went dead silent. “Your Honor,” I whispered, staring dead at my pale husband. “This is no longer a divorce hearing. This is the trial for every dark secret you believed would remain buried forever.” My husband’s smile turned into pure terror.

The man reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a heavy gold badge mounted on leather, and let it hang down right in front of Richard’s paralyzed, bleeding face.

“Special Agent Miller, Federal Bureau of Investigation, White Collar Crimes Division,” the man stated, his voice calm and methodical amidst the screaming chaos. He pulled a pair of heavy, steel handcuffs from his belt.

He yanked Richard’s arms forcefully behind his back. Richard groaned, spitting blood onto the legal briefs scattered beneath him. The metallic, heavy click-click of the cuffs locking into place around his wrists was the sweetest, most melodic sound I had heard in ten years.

“Richard Vance,” Agent Miller continued, reciting the words as if reading from a menu, “you are under arrest for aggravated wire fraud, grand larceny, corporate embezzlement, evidence tampering, and making terroristic threats against a witness in open court. You have the right to remain silent. Given what you’ve just admitted to on the official court record, I strongly suggest you finally start using it.”

Richard was gasping, struggling weakly against the agent’s iron grip. Blood dripped steadily from his shattered nose onto the floor, staining the pristine wood. He craned his neck, looking desperately for his savior. “Simon! Simon, do something! File an injunction! Do something!”