From Fake Divorce to Real Fortune Novel – Chapter 10
While Jack was being processed at the local precinct — his fingerprints quickly confirming his identity and his lack of legal status in the US — Ms. Albright and I made a few calls.
One was an anonymous tip to a rather formidable-looking contact number the PI had unearthed for Carmen Rodriguez’s family in a rural part of Jalisco.
I simply stated that a certain Jack Miller, Carmen’s husband and father of her unborn child, was currently detained in California, USA, and might be facing deportation, but also had outstanding financial obligations in Mexico.
The next day, as Jack was facing a judge for his arraignment on assault charges and an immigration hold, a delegation arrived.
Carmen, her belly prominent, was accompanied by two older, stone-faced men who looked like they wrestled steers for fun, and a sharp-tongued older woman who was clearly her mother.
They didn’t speak much English, but their fury and determination needed no translation. They had their own evidence of Jack’s deceptions and debts in Mexico.
The legalities were complex, but the outcome was swift. Jack was a “legal ghost” in the US, with an outstanding warrant for skipping bail on minor fraud charges in Mexico that my PI had also conveniently uncovered. He had an actual, legal wife and an impending child in Mexico.
The US authorities were more than happy to expedite his deportation. The last I saw of Jack, he was being “escorted” by Carmen’s glowering brothers towards a southbound bus, his shoulders slumped in utter defeat. He was no longer my problem. He was Carmen’s.
Our wedding went ahead a week later, smaller, more intimate, but filled with a profound sense of peace and relief.
Sophia, radiant, finally threw her flower petals. Ben’s hand in mine was strong and true. John and Margaret looked on, their smiles genuine, the shadows finally lifted from their eyes. We bought our new house, filled with light and laughter.
Sometimes, late at night, I’d think of Jack. Not with anger, not anymore. Just a distant, clinical pity for a man who’d thrown away everything for a fantasy, only to end up trapped in a reality of his own making. My reality, however, was just beginning. And it was beautiful.