Table for Two Ch. 02: Revelations

I would like to start by apologizing to those who have patiently waited for my next post. A lot has happened in the last two to three weeks. Thanks to those who reached out. I would also like to thank all those who have read and offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories.

And now, the disclaimers:

For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... In addition:

1. Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.
2. All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.
3. Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

...

End of "Table For Two, Ch. 01: First Blood"

I changed the security code on the door to the office and double-locked it - something I hadn't done in years. Taking one last look around, I closed the door and went back into the front room, where Allison was waiting for me.

"Ready now?" she asked.

"Let's go," I said flatly.

I locked the front door and reset the alarm system before closing it. Allison turned to me after putting the clothing bag in the trunk of my car.

"Just so you know, your joint account has been frozen. Samantha has already taken out her share. Don't wait too long to sign the papers. I hope to hear from your lawyer soon," she said.

"Trust me. I don't know what the hell kind of game you and Samantha are playing, but I promise you this. I WILL get to the bottom of it, and I promise you heads will roll. Just so you know, you and your client have declared war," I hissed. Allison's face turned white as she took in my words. "You're now my enemies. You drew first blood. And I don't like to lose an argument."

...

And now, "Table For Two, Ch. 02: Revelations"

I headed downtown, where I knew of a hotel where I could get an extended-stay room at a reasonable rate even without a reservation. ISS had used this hotel many times over the years - so much so that they gave us a nice discount. I paid for a week's stay in cash, figuring I would be back in my own house by then. I also didn't want to make it any easier for them to find me, even though I figured they were having me followed.

The clerk was surprised to see me hand over a small pile of $100 bills, but he said nothing as he put them in his cash register and handed me a key card. A bellhop took my luggage and followed me to the room on the 11th floor.

After putting everything away, I ordered dinner from the hotel's kitchen, which I knew was open until midnight. Then I pulled out my phone and blocked Samantha's number. I knew several divorced men who had gotten into trouble simply by replying to texts and phone calls. My next action was to call my boss, Jack Iverson, to let him know what had happened.

"Damn, son, that's cold," old man Iverson said. "Tell you what, I'll call Alice Hawkins and see if I can get you in to see her first thing in the morning. I'll text you when I finish with her."

"Thanks, boss, I appreciate that," I told him as we ended the call. Alice Hawkins is a family law attorney who hates cheaters with a passion. I got a text from Jack about 30 minutes later confirming my 9:30 a.m. appointment with Alice. He also offered me the company's private investigative services at no charge. I accepted and sent a "thank you" text in response.

I grabbed my laptop and set it up, connecting to the hotel's WiFi. I first checked our joint account, and it was frozen. But not before Samantha had withdrawn nearly 80 percent of it.

Our joint credit cards had been paid off and canceled, and our joint savings account was also mostly gone. Fortunately, all of the monthly bills had already been paid. I logged into my disability account, which was at a different bank. I was relieved to see that it was still available. I now felt vindicated in not telling Samantha about that account.

I next logged into my home surveillance system and saw there were two videos already saved to the cloud. I pulled up the first video and saw Samantha and Allison coming into the house. A man in a well-tailored suit accompanied Samantha. Interesting, I thought to myself. Looking at the timestamp, I realized this happened shortly after I left.

"Well, how did it go? Did he sign the papers?" Samantha asked after they were all inside the front room.

"No," Allison said. "I told you he probably wouldn't. Legally, he has thirty days to respond. By the way, you didn't tell me he would be armed."

"Armed? You mean, like, with a gun?"

"Yes, Samantha, that's what 'armed' usually means," Allison answered sarcastically. "I was never so scared in my life," she declared.

"He used to be a federal agent," Samantha quietly told her. "He was shot in the line of duty. That's why he has that cane. I know he has a concealed carry permit."

"Oh wonderful," Allison said. "You could've said something to me in advance."

"Wait," the man interjected. "Are you saying he pulled a gun on you?"

"Yes," Allison responded. "He went through every room in the house almost as if he was expecting someone to be here. Who did he work for? Do you know?"

"No, not exactly," Samantha told her. "Some kind of a task force. He never talked about his work much, though. I know he once told my father that he killed people he didn't throw in jail."

"Task force? Interesting. I'll have to look into that," Allison said thoughtfully.

"Fucking terrific," the man exclaimed. "A mad former fed with a gun. What do you think he's gonna do when he learns the whole truth?"

"Settle down. He's not gonna do anything," Allison said. "Yes, he's angry, and to be honest, he has every right to be. But he's not stupid. And he's not gonna learn the whole truth. One other thing, Samantha."

"What?"

"Why didn't you tell me this was his home before you two got married?"

"I didn't think it would matter," Samantha answered. "Why?"

"Why? Are you kidding me? Technically speaking, you have no right to this place in a divorce."

"But you said I deserved to have it."

"And I meant it. But you just made my job a whole lot harder," Allison spat.

"So, does that mean we can set him up now?" the man asked. "I've got a whole thumb drive chock full of images and video right here with me. It won't take me but a second to put it on his computer. Then we'll have him dead to rights. He'll be in jail before he knows what hit him."

"Put that away, right now," Allison commanded. "We're not at that stage yet. Besides, he took his backup drive when he left and he locked the door to his office. I think he also changed the security code to that lock."

"So?" the man asked. "Give me a tire iron. I can use that to break through this door. Plus, Sam gave me the password to his computer."

"Don't even think of it," Allison said, her face red. "We're going to have to be careful here. Don't do anything rash. You hear me? Just give me some time to think things through. I'll need to find out everything I can about your husband, Samantha. I have federal contacts. Let me see what I can get from them. In the meantime, you two cool your jets. And don't do anything stupid, you hear me, Alan? We don't work in the same department, but I'm still senior to you. Got it?"

"I hear ya," the man sheepishly said. At least now I had a first name. And I knew just how far they would go to set me up. But why? Allison left the house, and the video ended when Samantha and Alan walked up the stairs.

The next video was taken in the master bedroom. Alan took his jacket and tie off, throwing them on the back of my chair. He followed up with the rest of his clothing as Samantha undressed. When she was nude, he took her in his arms.

"C'mon, Sam, why don't we get under the covers and enjoy ourselves?" he asked with a wry smile. Samantha looked up at him as she returned his smile.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt," she said. "After all, this will be our bedroom before long. You might as well get used to it." She turned and spotted my ring on the dresser. "Oh, look at this. Mikey left his wedding ring. How thoughtful. Maybe I can pawn it with the rest of his crap." Both of them laughed at that. She tossed the ring back on the dresser before returning to the bed.

"So, which side is mine?" Alan asked, and Samantha pointed to the side closest to the door.

"That side," she told him. Alan pulled the covers back and got in the bed. Samantha followed, climbing on top of him afterward. "This is so nice, not having to worry about whether or not my weight will bother your leg."

Talk about devastating! This was the first time I had heard her complain about my leg. It usually didn't bother me unless she sat on it for too long, but even then, I never let her know. Until now, I thought my injury never bothered her.

"That's right. Ol' Mikey's a cripple," Alan sneered. "Well, I'll have you know I'm in perfect shape. Gimme that body of yours." Samantha giggled as she wriggled herself on top of him.

"Put that big cock inside me and fuck me silly," she demanded. Alan reached down and adjusted his cock so she could impale herself on him. "Oh yeah, that's it," Samantha cooed as she took him inside her pussy. "Now, fuck me. Make me your woman. Do it! Fuck a baby in me."

"Aren't you still on the pill?" he asked as he bucked inside her.

"No. I quit taking those today," Samantha told him. This was new, as I never knew she was on the pill. She knew that I had a low sperm count, which, according to several doctors I had seen over the years, was something I was born with. But again, we had discussed it, and Sam never seemed concerned about it. It just meant the odds of my fathering a child were reduced.

"Then get ready to be pregnant," Alan said as he fucked into her harder. He rolled over while buried inside her and spread her legs wide as he pumped into her harder and faster.

"Yes! Yes! Fuck me! Harder," Samantha exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Fill me with your hot cum!"

"I'm cumming," Alan groaned as he fucked Sam harder. "Aaaarrghhh," he growled as he ejaculated inside my soon-to-be ex-wife. As he rolled off Sam, I saw his semen dripping from her spread twat. She scooped some of it with a finger and licked it clean, like a lollipop.

"That's so yummy," she cooed. I stopped the video, unable to watch any more. I felt my dinner start to come back up and headed for the bathroom. After emptying my guts into the toilet, I washed my face and counted to ten while taking long deep breaths. I couldn't believe what I had just seen.

The only woman I had ever truly loved in my entire life had made a mockery of our wedding vows. And she had done it in the bed we had shared for the last several years. I began to wonder if I ever really knew her. After collecting myself, I went back into the room and looked through the pictures Allison had given me.

They all had a date and time stamp in the lower right corner and were also marked with a location: Dallas, Texas. Going back to my laptop, I pulled up my calendar. I was in Seattle on the exact dates the photos were supposedly taken in Dallas. Which meant I also had receipts for any expenditures I made. I figured that alone should be enough to prove I wasn't the man in the photos.

I looked closer at the man and noticed no clear face shots. Interesting, I thought. Then it hit me. Examining the photos, I realized two pictures showed the man's right thigh. There were no scars present in either image. I could easily prove that all of these photos were staged. But why? Unless...

Damn her, I thought. Samantha intended to use the prenuptial to rape me in a divorce to cover up for her infidelity. According to the agreement her father put together, adultery

meant the guilty party left the marriage only with what he or she brought into it with no support.

I looked closer at the divorce papers and realized Samantha went far beyond what the prenup stipulated. She not only wanted my house but also 80 percent of all the marital assets and 75 percent of my 401K, along with a crippling amount for "maintenance." I knew there was no way she would ever get that much in court, which explained why Allison pushed me to sign the papers sight unseen.

I wanted to find out what I could about this Alan character. I thought he worked with Samantha's law firm, so I went to their website. Sure enough, I found him - Alan Williams, a junior partner who joined the firm after leaving New York a few months ago. I decided to have our investigators look into his background.

Seeing it was pushing 11:30 pm, I shut my laptop down and prepared to go to bed, but my phone buzzed. Looking, I saw it was Jacob Greene, Samantha's father. I was surprised he would call so late in the evening but decided to take the call anyway.

"Mike, this is Jake Greene. How the hell are ya, boy?" he asked in his usual salty manner.

"Frankly, I've had better days, Pop," I answered.

"I'll bet you have. I was at the club with Langley, and he told me that you and Sam are getting divorced," Jacob said. "Imagine my surprise when he asked me how I handled the news of my daughter's pending divorce. I tried Sam's phone, but it went straight to voicemail. Wanna fill me in?"

"It's true. She had me served this evening. Claims adultery."

"Did ya do it, boy?" Jacob asked in a severe tone. This was just like him - direct and to the point. It was one of the things I admired about the man.

"Hell no," I answered. "But she did."

"What? You telling me she fucked around on you but claims you fucked around on her?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you, Pop."

"You got proof of this?"

"Sure do. You want to see it for yourself?" I asked him.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I do. Where are ya? I'm coming over right now." I told him where I was staying, and he repeated it for verification.

"I'll be there in a half-hour. I don't give a shit how late it is. I wanna see this so-called evidence."

"I'll be here, Pop," I told him. We ended the call, and I got everything ready to show him, then made a small pot of coffee, knowing he would want some. I heard a knock on the door, grabbed my pistol, and looked through the peephole. Seeing it was Pop and verifying that he was alone, I cracked the door open.

"It's just me, son. No one else is here," Pop said. I unlatched the chain and opened the door but kept my pistol handy.

"Come on in," I told him. He walked in, and his eyes grew wide when he saw the 9 mm handgun.

"What the hell? You expecting trouble?" he asked, shocked.

"Always," I told him as I closed and locked the door.

"Well, put that damn thing away, willya? It makes me nervous," Pop said. I made the weapon safe and put it back in the holster, close by my side.

"Want some coffee before we get started?" I offered, holding out a paper cup. Pop shrugged his shoulder and took the cup.

"What the hell," he said. I poured each a cup, and we sat down. "Are you sure this is coffee?" he asked after a tentative sip.

"That's what the package says," I answered, causing him to laugh.

"Show me what ya got," he finally said. I handed him the photos Allison gave me earlier that evening. Pop looked through them, his brows furrowed. He sighed and handed them back to me.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"Well, the guy in those photos does seem to bear a slight resemblance, but whoever he is, he ain't you."

"What makes you say that?"

"For starters, I've seen you in swimming trunks. That fella doesn't have a scar on his right thigh," Pop said. "In a couple of those photos, he looks like he's putting all his weight on that right knee. I've never seen you do that." I couldn't help but smile at his observation. He was right, however. Since being shot, I have never been able to put all my weight on that knee.

"One other thing," I added. "Look at the date and time stamp on those photos. According to Allison, this happened in Dallas. I was in Seattle when these pictures were allegedly taken, and I have the receipts to prove it."

"Interesting," the older man said. "You said you have proof that Samantha is cheating on you. I wanna see it."

"It's pretty graphic, Pop," I warned, and he waved off my concern.

"I'm an adult, boy. There's nothing I haven't seen before. Trust me on that."

"Okay. Have it your way. This was from earlier this evening, after I left the house," I told him as I started the videos. He watched the action play out on my laptop with his brows furrowed. When they finished, I brought up the real-time surveillance cameras. Samantha and Alan were sleeping in my bed, naked, arms and legs wrapped around each other.

"I've seen enough," he said. "Turn it off. Please." I ended the video and closed the lid on my laptop.

"Well?" I asked.

"I believe you, son," he finally said quietly. He looked deep in thought for a few moments, then looked at me. "You think this has anything to do with your time on the Task Force?" The idea had crossed my mind, and I found his question intriguing, so I wanted to hear his reasoning.

"What makes you ask that?" I could see him carefully choosing his words.

"I haven't exactly been completely straight with you, son. Please understand that, like you, I have been sworn to a level of secrecy."

"I understand, Pop," I reassured him.

"I know all about the Task Force," he told me quietly. "I also know about that MMAS bunch." MMAS, the Mutual Marital Assurance Society, was a radical group started by a female lawyer who sought to punish cheating husbands. Unfortunately, her quest for power went way beyond that objective.

"Could you explain that a bit for me, Pop?" I asked quietly. He sighed heavily before continuing.

"Trudy isn't Samantha's birth mother, but she's the only mother Sammie has ever really known," Pop began. I knew Trudy was Pop's second wife but never pressed the issue. I always figured if he wanted to talk about it, he would. And now, he was. "Sam's birth mother abandoned us when she was a little girl."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I told him. He shook his head.

"Don't be. Patricia - that was her name - got involved with the woman who started that MMAS. Wanted me to help underwrite her operation. She figured I'd be open to it, given some of my charitable and political donations. I met the woman - Mona Larsen. Listened to her spew her snake oil. Of course, I refused to help her. I understood her pain, but there was no way I could condone what she wanted to do.

"Patty, on the other hand, not only condoned it but wanted to help Mona so much she abandoned us to do it. I hired Bill Jackson to deal with my divorce. She took her maiden name - Witherspoon - and moved to Washington, DC, to work with Mona."

"Wait, did you say, Witherspoon?" I asked.

"Yes, I did. Why?" Pop asked.

"I recall hearing about a Pat Witherspoon who died in custody a few months before I got shot. Was that your first wife?"

"Yes," Pop said quietly. "She didn't just die, though. She was murdered. By Mona Larsen. I was told she had some kind of poison capsule in her neck. She supposedly got a message from Mona that her services were no longer required. That triggered a hypnotic suggestion that she slap her neck. When she did, the poison capsule broke and she was dead before her body hit the floor."

"I didn't know all that," I told him. "Wasn't my case."

"It's neither here nor there," Pop said. "By then, I had already remarried. Trudy can't have children, but she happily adopted Sammie." He wiped his eyes, then looked at me before speaking again. "I know MMAS has a history of going after former agents. It's their way of getting revenge. That's why I asked if you think they're involved in this."