PART 10 – The Morning After the Fall
The fluorescent light of the motel room buzzed softly overhead when I opened my eyes. It took me a few seconds to realize where I was. The cheap bedspread, the musty-smelling carpet, and the view of the wet highway parking lot painfully made clear that this wasn't a nightmare, but harsh reality.
I stood up and looked into the small mirror above the sink. My face looked pale, marked by a sleepless night full of self-reproach and panic. My suit from yesterday evening hung crumpled over a plastic chair. Today would be the day my entire old life would officially cease to exist.
At precisely nine o'clock, my phone rang. It was my wife's lawyer.
"Good morning," a cold, professional male voice said on the other end. "I am calling on behalf of Mrs. De Jong. The divorce papers are ready for signature at her office on the Singel. If you come by within two hours and agree to all conditions, there will be no criminal prosecution regarding the embezzled funds from 2015."
I felt a stab in my chest. She wasn't even giving me time to catch my breath. "And if I refuse?" I asked in a hoarse voice.
"In that case, Madam will immediately file charges for large-scale fraud and embezzlement, supported by the complete digital dossier we secured last night. The chance of you ending up behind bars for a long period in that scenario is virtually one hundred percent."
So the choice had already been made for me. No negotiation possible, no room for defense, no hope of a favorable settlement. I was completely cornered.
"I'm coming," I choked out, and hung up.
The drive to the law firm in the city center felt like a Stations of the Cross. Traffic was jammed in the morning rush hour, and every car around me seemed to be staring at me. When I entered the office, I was led straight to a sleek, minimalist meeting room where the lawyer was already waiting for me with a thick stack of papers and a blue pen.
My wife wasn't there. She hadn't even deemed it necessary to be personally present at my final downfall.
I didn't even read the first page anymore. With a trembling hand, I placed my signature at the bottom of the document sealing my financial and personal ruin. When I looked up, the lawyer placed a small plastic bag on the table.
"This is from Madam," he said businesslike. "She left this at the hotel reception."
I looked inside the bag. It was my old gold watch, the watch I had lost in 2015 on the sixth floor of the hotel, the watch I had always thought I had simply misplaced somewhere along the way.
