My quiet life shattered when Michael, my husband of 12 years, filed for divorce right after my grandfather died. I hadn’t seen him since—until the day I spotted a white sports car in a supermarket lot. Out stepped Michael, now dressed in designer clothes and flaunting a Rolex.
Stunned, I confronted him. He coldly brushed me off and threw a $100 bill at my feet—mocking me. But what truly stopped me was the small smiley face on that bill. I had drawn it myself, once, on a stack of money my dying grandfather had offered me for my future. I’d declined, saying I didn’t need it. Clearly, someone else had taken it.
I visited Harrison, Grandpa’s old business partner, and showed him the bill. He confirmed what I feared—Grandpa had likely given the money to Michael, thinking it would help us. Instead, Michael had taken the cash and left me.
Harrison handed me a lawyer’s card. Logan, confident and sharp, listened to my story. “Fraud by deception,” he called it. We decided to confront Michael before taking legal action.
Michael’s new luxury apartment was everything I expected. When we arrived, Logan laid it out: we’d sue, subpoena records, and expose everything. Michael folded fast. He agreed to sell his assets and return the money.
A year later, I used that money to open a veterinary clinic in my grandfather’s honor. Logan attended the opening—and later asked me to dinner. Two years after that, I married him.
I still keep that smiley-faced $100 bill tucked in my wallet. It reminds me of Grandpa—and the twist of fate that led me to the love of my life.
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