Unhappily Ever After Bk. 01 Ch. 02-03

Fitting the GPS locator to her car took only a few minutes. As Tommy had suggested, I spliced it to the taillight power source and fixed it to the wiring harness. It looked like it belonged there.

Leaving her car parked in the visitor's parking bay, I rolled the suitcase I'd packed for her into the house where, after taking it to her room, I lifted it onto the bed and removed her computer. It had been the last thing I'd thrown into her bag after packing everything else.

As I unzipped the case, I discovered that I wouldn't have to allow her to spend a night in the house after all. Her mobile phone was sitting on top of the laptop. She obviously hadn't wanted her weekend celebrations disturbed.

While waiting for her computer to boot up, I opened up the back of her phone and fitted the bug, using the adhesive ring to stick it to the back of the battery. As with the GPS tracker I'd installed in her car, it looked like it was part of the battery.

After reassembling the phone, I switched it on and punched in her password. For someone as smart as Sam, she was a Luddite when it came to technology. She used the KISS principle when it came to security. And what can be simpler than using your own birthdate as a password? I'll give her her due, though. She did make it a little more difficult by putting the month ahead of the day.

Of course, once I had her phone entry code, I also had access to her computer. It was a given that she used the same password for both devices. I hoped that breaking into her firm's servers would be as easy. I doubted it, however.

'Surely,' I told myself, 'they'd be more stringent about their information security in her office.' But that was something I'd let Tommy worry about. My job was to set up her phone and laptop so he could work his special magic. But I'd get to the laptop later. First, I needed to sort out the phone.

Step one was to switch her Bluetooth on. Easy. Step two was to activate my phone and open the cloning app. Once again, easy. Step three was to lay the two phones beside each other while the program was transferred from my phone to hers. I was becoming bored.

While that was happening, I kicked her laptop in the guts and, after logging on as Sam, inserted the flash drive into one of the USB ports. I didn't have to do anything else. Tommy had set it up to auto-start. Within a matter of minutes, a message came up on the screen instructing me to remove the flash drive. I just hoped he'd been right when he'd assured me that all evidence of our intrusion would have been erased before this message came up. The same, I hoped, would be true of the cloning software planted on her phone.

I then shut down the computer and phone and, after wiping them down with a pair of cum-encrusted panties I'd found in her bathroom laundry hamper while bagging up her belongings, placed them back into the laptop case.

The last thing I did was to cut a small slit in the lining of each of her favourite over-shoulder bags - one brown, one black - and insert the bugs. Except for rare occasions like this weekend, she never went anywhere without one or the other. They then joined her other shit in the suitcase.

With a sigh of relief, I lugged everything back down to her car. At the last minute, I decided that I could save her the disappointment of being driven all the way down the driveway only to find she'd been cast adrift. She might as well learn about it as soon as she arrived at the front gate. That would also save me from having to put up with her beating on the front door, begging to be let in so she could attempt to justify her actions.

I drove her car up the long driveway and parked it in the lay-by beside the property entrance and, after removing and pocketing everything but the remote car door lock and car keys from her keyring, I locked it. The car keys went into the envelope with the storage locker keys and the letter. It was then sealed and placed under the driver's side wiper blade.

My first stop on my way back to the house was at the gate-opening keypad, where I changed the entry code. When I arrived back at the house, I muted the speakerphone that connected the gate to the wall-mounted communications system in the kitchen. I didn't want to hear her prattling on for hours about how 'it was only sex', that 'it didn't mean anything', and how she 'loved only me'.

I knew my lack of response to those pleadings would result in threats. From what I gather, 'I'll take you for everything you've got' is an oft-tried and often true one; and she had already made those threats.

'But not this time, My Love,' I thought, a smile creasing my face.

That thought prompted me to make a mental note to call my lawyer the following morning to confirm we'd covered all our bases and that all my financial protections were in place and were rock solid.

Another is, "I'll rip your heart out'. The trouble was that she'd already done that. 'I'll destroy you', is also a good one. That was the only one that concerned me. Nathan Kingston might be an arsewipe. But he was an arsewipe with clout. He'd already shown that he didn't play by Queensbury rules. I'd have to show him that I could be just as ruthless; if not more so.

I must have fallen asleep in my recliner because I was woken at about one o'clock on Monday morning by the warning buzzer I'd set up at the front gate to alert me to a vehicle having turned in off the road. Checking it out on the audio-video screen, it didn't look like a cab, but it could have been an Uber; although I don't know any Uber drivers who receive a long passionate kiss in payment for their services.

But that's what the camera showed was happening up at my front gate. Obviously, Sam didn't think it would be a good idea to have one of her fuck-buddies drive her all the way to the house. She apparently intended to hoof it home from the gate.

Only after alighting from her delivery driver's ride did she realise that the car parked up beside the gate was her BMW. She yelled at her friend to stop as he started to reverse out of the layby. When he complied, she walked over to his door and spoke to him. I couldn't hear their conversation, but she was obviously asking him to stay with her until she found out what was going on. He exited his car and went with her to examine her car. It was then that she saw the envelope under the wiper blade.

Both sets of keys fell out as she used her fingernails to slit open the bulky packet. Her companion bent down to pick them up.

After using her wireless key to unlock her car, she opened the driver's side door and sat in the seat. She then read the short letter in the dim interior light. I couldn't see her facial expressions, but I did see her wilt.

I saw her look up at him and say something like, "The bastard's thrown me out".

He responded with a shrug and a smile.

Sam exited the car, walked over to the speakerphone and pressed the buzzer. She tried it repeatedly before giving up. I could see the tears streaming down her face. Eventually, however, her sorrow turned to anger. She looked at the camera with fire in her eyes and raised her middle finger before turning away and storming back to her car.

She and her companion drove away. She hadn't thought to try opening the gate using the keypad - probably because she couldn't remember the four-digit code - and she couldn't try to open the gate with her remote opener because I had removed it and the garage opener from her car's sun visor.

Before heading off to bed, I sent a text to Shirley Smith, my executive secretary - yes, I still referred to her as my secretary - telling her that I probably wouldn't be in on Monday.

---oooBJSooo---

CHAPTER THREE

Monday, December 18, 2017

War Breaks Out

I was sitting in my home office on Monday morning, working on the scheduling for one of my upcoming projects when, at ten o'clock, I was alerted to two cars turning in off the road. A minute or two later, I heard a repetitious buzzing from the audio-video link in the kitchen. Someone was announcing their presence at the entrance to my property.

Bringing up the video link on my computer, I saw two cars parked at the gate. One of them was Sam's. The other was a marked police car. It was the uniformed police officer who was pressing the buzzer.

Before answering, I placed a call through to my lawyer, Brad Stokes. Fortunately, he was in.

"Record this," I instructed him. "I'll explain it all later. Book me in for this afternoon and text me the appointment time. It looks like I'll be tied up for a while. Not literally, I hope."

I gave him a couple of minutes to get himself organised and answered the gate phone as soon as he told me he was ready.

"Yes," I said into the microphone. "How can I help you, officer?"

"Are you Aaron John Bourke?" he asked.

"I am," I responded.

"Are you the husband of Samantha Jane Bourke?" he asked.

"There are probably some legal documents floating about somewhere that attest to that unfortunate situation," I said, "but so far as I am concerned, that has never been the case, and I will be endeavouring to rectify that misconception at the earliest opportunity.

"The woman you refer to is nothing other than a corporate whore who has no place in my life and who no longer lives at this address."

"That may be the case, Mr Bourke," he said, "but I have in my hand a court-certified document giving Mrs Bourke permission to enter your joint home for the purpose of retrieving certain personal possessions and documents."

"Are those personal possessions and documents identified in that order?" I asked.

"And, while we're talking about identification, would you kindly identify yourself?"

"I'm Constable Geoffrey Leadbottom, Sir. And, no, the items are not identified. It simply says, 'certain personal possessions and documents', Sir."

"Strangely sloppy for a lawyer, don't you think, Constable? Somewhat open-ended.

"Might I suggest that you advise the woman you refer to as Mrs Bourke that she should go back to her idiot legal advisor and have him identify the items and document she wishes to recover? Until I know exactly what she wishes to remove from my property, she's not setting foot on it.

"To the best of my knowledge, I removed everything belonging to her over the past weekend. What wasn't in her car when she picked it up and left in the early hours of this morning - including a garbage bag filled with her cum-soaked underwear - was deposited into a storage locker. She has the only keys to that locker.

"Goodbye, Constable Leadbottom," I said before hitting the disconnect switch.

I watched through the video screen as the police officer and Sam had a heated discussion - heated only on her part, it should be said - before they both entered their cars and headed back into town.

"Wow!" my lawyer said after I'd picked up my phone, "Do you want to come to work for me. I don't think I've ever heard a better example of the 'Baffle-Them-With-Bullshit' principle used to beat a valid entry order.

"I have it all on record. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Or do you want to wait for this afternoon?"

"This afternoon would be better for me," I said. "I've got a couple of things to do. And I'd like to be out of here before they come back. Before I go, however, I need to find out what's so important that it needs a court order to collect it. I packed all her clothing and shit and put it all into storage.

"She won't have had time to go through it before chasing up that order, so whatever it is has obviously been hidden somewhere I haven't looked. That can only be one place."

After saying my goodbyes, I went out to the garage and retrieved a pair of surgical gloves from my workshop. I used them when working with adhesives and two-pack paints.

Once I had pulled them onto my hands, I went straight to the master bedroom and opened her safe. I'd installed it so she could safely store her jewellery and other valuables. Having done the installation, I'd also set the combination for her. Like her other codes, it was the four digits of her birthdate.

'Arrr, me hearties!' I silently exclaimed when I saw a stack of DVDs sitting on edge in a box at the back of the spacious enclosure. 'Thar be treasure.'

It took me almost two hours to copy the fifteen discs onto my computer. I didn't waste time looking at their content but loaded them straight onto a one-hundred-and-twenty-eight gigabyte flash drive and then to my personal cloud vault.

My phone dinged during the copying process. It was a text from Brad telling me he had set me up with his last appointment of the day at four-thirty.

"Excellent," I texted back. "Wait for me if I'm late. I think I've found gold but have been delayed. Afraid I might get caught before leaving here."

I received a thumbs-up emoji in reply.

Next, I sent a text to Tommy, instructing him to go to my cloud vault to see if there was anything worthwhile in my last upload. I also gave him my access details.

Before exiting Messenger, I deleted the texts between Tommy, Brad, and me. I also deleted the DVD files from my laptop. It wouldn't stand up to serious scrutiny but would pass a casual inspection.

I then replaced Sam's DVDs in the safe and locked it. I also set up a small digital security cube I'd bought to put on the odd job site when I suspected that we were losing material and tools. Hopefully, it would provide evidence that a box of discs actually existed.

I'd showered and shaved and was heading out the door when the gate buzzer went off again. A look at the screen showed me that Sam and Constable Leadbottom had returned. It had just gone one o'clock.

I turned on the recording function on my phone before answering.

"Good afternoon, Constable Leadbottom," I said. "To what do I owe your second visit of the day. It must be important for my slut of a soon-to-be ex-wife to be in such a hurry to get her whorish claws on it."

"The order has been amended," he said. "It now specifies that Mrs Bourke has court-granted permission to recover jewellery and other important personal possessions from the safe in the master bedroom.

"The order specifies that she may not go anywhere else in the house and may not remove anything else from the house."

"That sounds reasonable," I said. "But my acceptance of the order comes with two provisos. The first is that I am allowed to photograph everything that is removed from that safe so there can't be any dispute as to its contents at some later date."

"And the second one?" the young Constable asked.

"That you issue me with an itemised receipt listing everything removed from the safe."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," he responded.

Of course, Sam didn't like my idea. Apparently, she felt the court order should be enough to allow her to storm into my house and take what she wanted without me having any control over what passed from my possession to hers.

After finding that she couldn't get what she wanted - either from me or her police escort - she charged back to her car.

I thought she was leaving, but Constable Leadbottom told me that she had agreed with my condition and that they would like to act on the order.

"On behalf of Mrs Bourke and the State Police Service, we accept your conditions," he concluded.

With that assurance, I opened the gate to allow them entry.

At the speed Sam drove her BMW down the driveway, I thought she might try using it to charge up the front steps and right over the top of me. I stood my ground, however. Hoping that even she wouldn't be stupid enough to run me down in front of a cop. Imbecilic, I know.

Luckily, she turned the wheel at the last minute and came to a skidding halt in the visitor's parking area, almost exactly where I had parked it while loading her stuff into it on Saturday, before moving it outside the property boundary the following afternoon.

The police car arrived almost a minute behind Sam.

By the time the police officer was climbing out of his car, she was halfway up the steps. The only thing stopping her from charging into the house was me standing on the top step with my right hand held out towards her in the internationally recognised stop signal.

She looked confused. She was seeing a man she considered to be her inferior, standing up to her and refusing her entry into what she thought of as her own home.

"You know I'm going to take all this off you, don't you?" the woman I'd once loved said as we stood waiting for the constable to appear. I assumed that he'd gone to the boot of his car to get his official receipt book.

I ignored her.

As soon as the young cop joined us, I opened the door and let them precede me through the marble-tiled entry foyer toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

"The slut knows the way the master bedroom," I said from behind them. "I'll just go and get my camera from my office."

When I arrived in the bedroom with the camera to record the contents of the safe, it was open, and the box was empty.

"What was in the box?" I asked.

"Just a DVD labelled, 'Happy Snaps - Holiday Videos'," the constable said, showing me his receipt form.

"Would you mind asking her to hold it up so I can take a photo of it, please?" I asked him.

"Ma'am, would you do that, please?"

Sam held up a DVD case with its back facing me. I didn't make a fuss because I knew everything was being recorded on the mini-cam. Besides, I'd already photographed the covers of all the DVDs. And none of them said anything about being 'happy snaps' or 'holiday videos'. But their subterfuge gave me a hint as to the content of the discs.

I say 'their' subterfuge because I now knew they were both involved in whatever conspiracy was taking place. Of course, if lawyers were involved in whatever was going on, it stood to reason that cops would also be closely linked to it. The ease with which they had obtained the entry order also suggested that members of the judiciary might also have a finger in the pie.

An hour later, everything removed from the safe had been photographically and manually recorded. The young cop was about to sign off on his record when I stopped him.

"There's one more thing to add to the list," I said, leaving the room. I returned a few minutes later with my wedding ring. I'd had to cut it off with a pair of side cutters.

Holding it in the palm of one hand, I photographed it before handing it to him to record.

"One man's wedding ring," he wrote, "gold, damaged." He then threw it into Sam's large, brown handbag; one of two she never goes anywhere without.

As the ring disappeared into her bag, I was reminded of the recording device I had secreted in it. Hopefully, it would have recorded any agreement they might have reached about payment for the young constable's involvement in the retrieval of her damning videos.

It would also provide evidence of his career-ending corruption.

Sam's eyes spat flames at me as she watched the damaged gold band being thrown into her bag. To her, it would have been the ultimate insult to her and her lover.

The constable signed the receipt in the appropriate place. He then offered it to me to sign.

"Unfortunately, I wasn't here for the opening of the safe and only learned about some of its contents after they had been removed," I said. "I would probably be perjuring myself if I signed it. I think it would be more legally compliant for someone who was in on it from the start to add their signature to yours, don't you?"

With that, he handed the form to Sam to sign. Stupidly, she complied. That simple signature might well end her legal career. It would certainly add to the constable's woes.