A Rich Fetish

And Sarah? What the hell should I do about her? How did I go about getting her out of Mexico when I didn't even know which damn whorehouse Arthur Kindred had left her at? And even supposing I managed to have her returned to Australia, where the hell did we go from here?

An insidious thought entered my battered mind. I tried to fight it, but its tendrils were like smoke, infiltrating, contaminating, pervasive. 'No,' I told myself, 'no, that's not you, Mike.'

But still it persisted.

Did I want to rescue Sarah from that whorehouse?

Before I could rid myself of the aberrant thought Sis and the kids burst in. By unspoken agreement we shelved discussion of Jean Kindred's visit and threw ourselves into bathing children and cooking dinner. Jean's words echoed in my brain, tangling with memories of Sarah. Ugly words and tainted memories. I hated how they distracted and interfered with my time with my children.

"God, I thought Cindy was never going to settle," Carrie complained as she flopped onto the lounge, curling her feet under her. "So, what did the bereaved widow have to say?"

"I don't know where to start," I began, handing her a glass of wine.

"The beginning, Mike. Tell me word for word what she said and then we can break it down together."

I related the conversation as best I could, only faltering when I reached the part concerning Sarah's whereabouts.

Carrie's gasp said it all.

"Jean assured me they were instructed not to put her to work or anything, but still..."

"What are you going to do? Do you know? How does one go about rescuing people from Mexican whorehouses?"

"I don't know to all three questions."

"Okay, let's park rescue plans. When Sarah is back on Aussie soil, what do you plan to do?"

"I don't know."

Carrie sighed. "You don't know much, Mike. You're going to have to start making some decisions. You need to have a game plan."

"I know, but I still can't get my head around it all. I can't reconcile the Sarah of the ledgers and Ferrari to the Sarah I have loved for twelve years. One moment I see Sarah in yoga pants making pancakes on a Sunday morning and then I have a vision of her dripping in diamonds and in one of those plunging neckline thingies hanging in the secret room and I struggle to believe she's the one and the same person."

"That's understandable. Her double life has thrown me for a loop too." Carrie paused, taking a sip of her wine. "How about we go back to basics and weigh up the pros and cons?"

I nodded; what else could I do?

And so we laid it out and at the end the pro-divorce list was looking a little sick. In that column were certainly some biggies, trust being the huge one along with betrayal, but I had to admit to pride and ego also making a showing. On the con or anti-divorce side of the ledger was a lot of material things like losing sixty percent of my assets, paying alimony, paying child support, having to live in a shoebox-apartment, but that paled in comparison to the emotional items. How could I live with being a weekend warrior father? How could I bear not to see the kids every day? I loved reading them a story. I loved being the one to put them to bed, love it when they were all snoozy and cuddly, smelling of soap and innocence. Even if I disclosed to the courts Sarah's secret life of prostitution there was a high probability they would still award her custody.

"I can't believe what I'm about to say, but, well..."

"Just spit it out, Sis."

"Have you considered not rescuing Sarah?"

"What?" I stared at Carrie as if she'd sprouted a second head. Normally, she was kindness personified. I couldn't believe she gave voice to my earlier thought.

"Is it any worse than what she's done to you since your first date? She's cheated on you since the very beginning. She's lied to you every single day that you've known her. My understanding of divorce law is that if she doesn't return after two years, then you can get the marriage annulled, or maybe it's still a divorce, on the grounds of abandonment. That way there's no losing everything you've worked for, no having your time with the kids decimated. Is leaving her in Mexico so much worse than what she's done to you all these years? You could always ask Jean Kindred to make sure Sarah isn't harmed. Would that be any harder on the kids than a divorce?"

I sipped my wine, rolling Carrie's words around my brain. Even knowing the length and breadth of Sarah's subterfuge and betrayal, and for all the sense Carrie's words made, could I do that to Sarah? Could I leave her in Mexico?

*****

I TURNED MY HEAD to the side and looked at the clock radio. The display glowed a ghostly green. 12:27 a.m. I sighed and rolled, turning my back on the torturous numbers. Sleep just wouldn't come. Carrie's words kept repeating in my mind.

She's cheated on you since the very beginning.

Have you considered not rescuing Sarah?

Would that be any harder on the kids than a divorce?

Sarah had wronged me in the worst way possible. She'd delivered such a blow to my heart I wasn't sure I'd ever fully recover. She'd left me questioning every shared moment of the last twelve years. The Sarah of the secret room was a stranger to me but the Sarah who had cried in gladness in my arms when our children were born, I loved. I loved her with all my heart.

Why? Why had she continued after we got engaged? I could understand her using her assets, so to speak, to work her way out of a financial crisis. I might not agree with her method, but I could understand. But after we became engaged? After we married?

That I would never understand.

Images of Sarah from our life together morphed into ones of her driving her Ferrari in a blonde wig. I saw her in her favourite white sundress and then draped in one of the expensive gowns from the secret room.

Which Sarah was the real one? How would I ever know? How could I believe anything she ever told me again? How would I know when she was sincere and when she was acting a part?

Of one thing I was certain—regardless of what motivated her to have our children, she loved them. She couldn't fake that.

Not knowing who my wife was, what her intentions were, where the kids and I fitted in, gnawed at me. I had to know. There had to be some way of finding out.

Something nagged at me. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I knew whatever it was it was to be found in the secret room. Without hesitation, I sat up and swung my feet out onto the cool floorboards. Baby monitor in hand, I made my way down to Sarah's sewing room.

I attacked the envelopes and loose documents first. I didn't know what I was looking for, but once again, I was trusting that I'd know it when I saw it.

Next, I hit the ledgers, grabbing the most current one. In my haste to flip it open the loose papers from the back fell to the ground. I was going to ignore them, but instinct made me look down. Words leapt off the page. FOR SALE. DESIGNS 4 LIFE. INNER CITY GRAPHIC DESIGN STUDIO LOOKING FOR A NEW OWNER.

My brain went into overdrive doing the math. She was going to use at least a part of her ill-gotten fortune to buy me my own design studio. She'd continued selling herself for us, for me. I might not like or agree with what she'd done, but she'd done it for her family.

I fell to my knees. My eyes smarted with unshed tears. I did have a place in Sarah's future. She did love me. A rush of love mixed with relief coursed through my veins.

Jean Kindred's words reverberated in my head; he did it because she tried to end their arrangement by blackmailing him. Sarah had been trying to end it. She must have decided she'd earned us enough. How she was going to explain the money to me remained a mystery. Perhaps an inheritance from the aunt, or even a lottery win? Regardless, she had wanted out.

Whether our marriage survived or not was still hugely in doubt. How would I ever be able to get the images of her with some of her clients out of my head? How would I ever trust her again, knowing her acting abilities? She'd managed to deceive me for so long.

But, despite how sorely she had wronged me, she didn't deserve the fate she was currently suffering. I had to save her. I had to free her from the whorehouse.

I prayed Jean Kindred would know which one Arthur had dumped Sarah in.

*****

"IN THE MATTER OF Shaw vs Shaw, I find in favour of Mr. Shaw and grant the dissolution of marriage due to abandonment. Mr. Michael Shaw will retain custody of all three children as well as one hundred percent of the marital assets."

The remainder of the judge's words faded. It was done. I was no longer married to Sarah. I was a free man. No sense of victory or pleasure filled me; only sadness. I looked over my shoulder at Carrie. She smiled reassuringly.

*****

WITH THE CHILDREN SAFELY tucked in bed, I poured myself a port and sat on the veranda. It was a beautiful night, but I barely noticed, caught up in the past as I was.

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, the same questions running through my mind as had been for the last two years.

Had I done the right thing? Had I ever really had a choice? What life had I condemned Sarah to?

I shuddered as I recalled that night. The night of my epiphany over Sarah's motives. I'd gone to bed relieved, only to be woken by the light of a torch shining in my face.

I replayed the scene in my head.

At the edges of the light, I discerned a man clad entirely in black, a balaclava concealing his features, sitting on the edge of my bed. He was pointing a gun at me. I stared past the silencer at the tips of the bullets nestled in their chambers.

"Hi, Mr. Shaw. Nice place you have here."

The incongruity of his words versus the gun in his hand made me gape at him speechlessly.

I was certain Jean Kindred had decided to remove me from the equation, just as she had Sarah and her husband. The knowledge made me just about crap myself, positive I was about to meet a grisly end. My first thought was for my children and without hesitation I begged for their lives.

"Please don't kill my children. They don't know anything. They are innocent in all of this."

"I'm not here to kill you or your children, or, at least, not yet, Mr. Shaw, or may I call you Mike?"

I nodded, pushing myself slowly and carefully into a seated position. I was confused. Why was he here if not to kill me?

"So, Mike, tell me, where's that hot little wife of yours? She and I had an appointment today which, I'm sad to say, she missed. I do so hope she's not trying to wriggle out of our deal."

I stared at him dumbly. He quirked an eyebrow, subtly shifting the angle of his gun.

"I don't know where Sarah is. She's been missing for over a week. You can ask the police; I filed a report."

"Hmm, that's not good news, Mike. You see, Sarah was supposed to pay me today the balance of what she owes me. What are we going to do about that?"

"What?" I shook my head confused. "Sarah owed you money? How much? For what?"

Even as I asked the questions, my brain started connecting the dots.

"We had a, ah, business arrangement; half down, half upon completion. Well, let's just say the job is complete."

"A business arrangement? What job?"

"Mike. Mike. Mike," the man lectured. "If Sarah wanted you to know the details she would have told you. All you need to know is I'm owed 20K. Pass the message on to the missus. I will be back at two tomorrow to collect."

"But I don't know where Sarah is. I can't pass any message on to her."

"Then you'll have to cough up on her behalf."

He stood, leaning forward to gently brush the end of the gun up and down my cheek.

"Repeat after me, Mike. 20K at 2:00 p.m."

I did as I was told.

He walked nonchalantly to the door as if he had all the time in the world. It didn't even occur to me to attack him when he had his back to me. Something told me this guy could handle himself.

At the door, he turned. "Oh, and, Mike. Nice kids. Real cuties. I checked on them before waking you for our little chat."

At his words I leapt out of bed, the sound of the man's soft laughter echoing in my head as he made his way down the stairs. One by one, I checked the kids, tears streaming down my face in relief to find them sleeping peacefully, unharmed.

The shock wore off and I started to shake uncontrollably. On unsteady legs, I made my way to the family room. I tried to process his words but my mind rebelled. I forced it to think. Suddenly, the unaccounted-for entry for $20,000 in Sarah's ledger made sense. Half before the job; half after. The job was done. HM stood for Hit Man and he wanted his money. The job was to kill a man. Kill Arthur Kindred. Dispose of a human problem like a used tea bag. I felt sick.

Suddenly all the unexplained expressions I'd seen on Jean Kindred's face made sense. Embarrassment and fear; an odd mix, to be sure. No wonder I hadn't been able to make sense of them at the time.

I had been so wrong—it wasn't Jean Kindred who had organised to have her husband killed. It was Sarah.

I shook my head again and again, not wanting to believe the obvious. Despite all Sarah had done, all her lies, all her deceit, her betrayal, I struggled to believe her capable of murder.

But she was. The man's words damned her.

We had a, ah, business arrangement.

All you need to know is I'm owed 20K.

Half down, half upon completion.

20K at 2:00 p.m.

What would drive a person to murder? I could see just about any parent doing so to protect their partner or child, but to wantonly end another's life? What kind of person could do that?

Sarah had known and been involved with Arthur Kindred for well over a decade and by all accounts he'd been generous to her. Christ, she had been sexually intimate with him. So why want him dead? The only conclusion I could come to came from Jean Kindred's words—Sarah had for the second time tried to end their arrangement and Arthur clearly wasn't going to go quietly. Sarah had wanted out and Arthur wasn't letting her go.

Did that justify her organising a hit on him? No, not in my book. It would seem he wasn't a physical threat to me or the kids, only to Sarah keeping her secret. She'd murdered a man to avoid the truth being revealed. That was truly terrifying. Was she capable of treating me with the same cold, hard logic?

The night passed sleeplessly.

The next morning, I got the children off to their schools and Cindy to Carrie's. I said nothing to Carrie of what had transpired. Time enough for that later.

Using money from the secret room I made up an envelope for the hitman. The situation was ironic on so many levels. Arthur Kindred had, in effect, paid for his own hit, paying the ultimate price for his abduction of Sarah. And Sarah? Well, she was at that very moment locked away in a whorehouse because her hired hitman had killed Arthur while he was on his way to release her. She was responsible for her own incarceration; not me. Not Arthur. She'd done it to herself.

At two precisely the door chime sounded.

"Hello, Mike."

Knowing the guy's purpose for being at my door, and what his profession was, made his over-the-top friendliness sinister.

I had the envelope in my hand, but I didn't immediately pass it to him. With my heart pounding, I asked the question that had kept me awake all night.

"How do I know that once I pay you what Sarah owes you that you won't come back for more?"

A look of surprise followed by offense replaced his false smile. "I'm a professional, Mike. Sarah and I had a business arrangement and once you hand over that envelope our business with each other will be complete."

I nodded and gave him the cash, praying I wasn't making a mistake. I mean, how reliable are the words of man living outside the law?

I watched him walk away. It might have been my imagination or knowing what he did for a living, but everything about him exuded danger.

His words of the previous night echoed. Oh, and Mike. Nice kids. Real cuties. I checked on them before waking you for our little chat.

Something told me for the right price he'd have no trouble killing a child.

And Sarah had brought him into our lives.

Into the lives of our children. Our sweet innocent kids.

That knowledge made all her other transgressions seem like mere drops in an ocean. No matter how terrible her years of lies were, no matter how painful the knowledge of her betrayal, or gut-wrenching the images of her screwing and indulging the fetishes of other men, they paled in comparison to her having risked the wellbeing, the very lives of our children.

That was unforgiveable.

In that moment, I knew my decision was made for me. One of my most important jobs as a father was to protect my children. The horror was in realising I needed to protect them from their own mother.

Sarah had committed a crime for which, had she been caught and tried by a jury of her peers, she'd have been given a life sentence. Through something as simple as a case of bad timing she'd incarcerated herself in a Mexican whorehouse for what would likely be the same duration.

Karma had certainly bitten her on her arse.

Inhaling deeply, I brought myself back to the present and took a sip of my port. I love my children beyond measure and would go to any length to protect them. That meant accepting it would take time to be fully at peace with my decision to leave Sarah in Mexico.

That was the cost of doing what needed to be done as a father.

EPILOGUE

JEAN KINDRED

Jean was unable to miss being investigated for the murder of her husband. The police were thorough, to say the least. Though she was innocent, and no charges were ever laid, enough dirt clung that she was ostracised by her former friends and excluded from the society for which she had sacrificed so much to be a part of. Jean never remarried. With no children, grandchildren, or genuine friends she was unable to enjoy her extraordinary wealth and died a lonely woman.

She kept her word and never mentioned Mike to the police. Apparently, she feared bad publicity more than the police investigation.

After a two-year investigation, police concluded Arthur Kindred had been assassinated by the Mexican Cortez Cartel for having opened a shelter for battered wives and unwed mothers to which many of the wives of the cartel's lower ranking members had fled.

MIKE SHAW

Mike sold the house he'd shared with Sarah. The couple who bought it were delighted to have a secret room. Mike took great pains to show both the opening mechanism.

Mike bought a new house closer to his sister Carrie that had a detached four-car garage with an apartment above which he converted to accommodate his graphic design business. Using some of the 1.6 million from Sarah's secret-life earnings he was able to take the time to build his business from scratch as well as hire a full-time housekeeper/nanny for James, Jenny, and Cindy. Over time, Mrs. Knowles became a pseudo grandmother to the children.

Five years after Sarah's disappearance he met Dianne, a young single mother. They had a rocky start to their relationship as each had quite a bit of baggage but through perseverance they finally found love, peace, and lasting happiness with each other. Ironically, Mike did end up with four children.

Dianne's son, Ryan, who was a year younger than Mike's son, Jamie, ended up falling in love with Cindy when he came home from college to find her all grown up... But that's another story.

Oh, and DNA tests proved Mike to be the biological father to all three of his children.