No Objections

|c.4|

Ever since Marisol had told Elliot about the miscarriage, he had been walking around like a ghost—tense, silent, disconnected. If it weren’t for the occasional forced, "You good?" or a robotic kiss on the cheek, she would have thought he had gone mute. When she returned home, there were no flowers waiting. No candles lit. No effort. Nothing. As if the devastating lie she'd told him hadn't even grazed his memory.

But Marisol didn’t get mad.

She began calculating.

She was done crying. Elliot was already dead to her. Everything now was just theater. Her role? The silent widow of a marriage that had already buried itself in betrayal.

Lately, she noticed him whispering on the phone in corners of the house, his voice hushed but urgent. She caught words like “signature,” “accounts,” and “move it now,” and every word confirmed what she already knew: he was about to siphon more money from her. Probably to start his shiny new life with the woman he thought she didn't know about.

He thought she would just lie down and take it.

She smiled to herself.

Not this time.

The First National Bank on the corner of Seventh and Main smelled faintly of lemon polish and old carpet. The air was cool, sterile, and buzzing with the low hum of printers and the occasional ding of the entrance sensor. Marisol sat on one of the leather-backed guest chairs, legs crossed neatly, her maroon wrap dress a sharp contrast to the beige decor. Her heels clicked against the marble tile when she shifted.

A young male representative appeared at the glass doorway of his office and gestured for her to come in. He looked no older than twenty-five, with a fresh haircut and a cautious smile. "Ms. Vargas? Right this way."

Inside, he offered her a seat and she gracefully accepted.

"So, what brings you in today?" he asked, attempting a tone of neutrality, though his curiosity peeked through.

Marisol folded her hands in her lap. "I’ve been seeing some strange activity on my accounts. Transactions I don’t remember authorizing. Before anything else happens, I want all accounts frozen. Immediately."

The young man’s brows lifted slightly. "Absolutely. That’s a serious concern. We'll place an immediate hold on the accounts. Did you also want to file a fraud claim?"

"Yes," she nodded. "But before that, I want to open a new account. One that only I have access to. Preferably two accounts actually—a checking and a business account."

The representative hesitated. "For that, we’ll need the bank manager to approve and help with the setup. Give me one moment."

Marisol nodded and watched him leave the office.

Her phone buzzed in her purse. A message from Carmen lit up the screen: You have a client here. He’s refusing to speak to anyone but you.

Marisol typed back quickly: Book him for later this afternoon. I’ll be in the office late.

Carmen replied within seconds: He’s demanding to see you the second you walk in. Says it’s urgent.

Marisol frowned, her instinct on high alert. She quickly tapped in a coded message: How’s the weather at sea? It was the phrase their firm used for intruders who might be dangerous—a secret code only trusted employees knew.

Carmen replied: Stormy but manageable. No need to anchor.

Translation: Frantic, but not dangerous.

Marisol let out a quiet breath and typed back: ETA 45 minutes. Hold him in the harbor.

Just then, a woman in a navy pantsuit walked into the office. Her nametag read “Sandra - Bank Manager.”

"Ms. Vargas? I’ll help you personally. Let’s make sure you’re protected."

Thirty minutes later, all of Marisol’s existing accounts were frozen. She had two brand-new accounts in her name only, secured with verbal passwords and multi-level authentication. Every automatic deposit—from her law firm to her private investments—had been rerouted.

"Thank you," Marisol told Sandra as they shook hands.

"If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me directly," Sandra said, her tone firm. "We’ll monitor your old accounts for any suspicious access attempts."

Marisol left the bank with her head held high.

She hadn’t been on the freeway for fifteen minutes when her car rang through the Bluetooth. The screen flashed: ELLIOT. But it no longer played their wedding song.

Now it was Billie Eilish's "Bad Guy."

She tapped the answer button.

"WHAT the hell happened to the accounts?!" Elliot’s voice exploded through the car.

Marisol blinked slowly. "Good morning to you too."

"Don’t play games with me, Marisol. I tried to buy breakfast and my card was DECLINED. What the hell is going on?"

She sighed theatrically. "Oh. That. The bank called me yesterday. Said there were multiple flags for potential fraud, so they froze everything and started a forensic investigation."

Silence.

Then, quieter: "Fraud? Are you sure?"

Marisol smiled coldly, knowing he couldn’t see it. "That’s what they said. They asked if I wanted to open a temporary account, but my dad already took care of it."

"Wait… what do you mean?"

"He opened an account under his name and gave me a card. That way I still have access to money without any potential fraud issues."

A long pause. Then Elliot laughed nervously. "Oh, thank God. You scared me for a minute. What’s the account info? I’ll transfer what we need to cover rent and—"

"I can’t give that to you."

The shift in his tone was immediate. "What do you mean you can’t?"

"I mean," she said slowly, like explaining it to a child, "my father opened the account. I can swipe the card, but I don’t have access to the account details. Only he does."

She could hear the wheels turning in his brain, the panic threatening to surface.

"You’re joking. You’re really gonna do this to me? How am I supposed to eat?"

Marisol pulled into the underground parking of her office building. The concrete walls echoed with her tires as she descended the ramp.

"I’m about to lose signal," she said, feigning static in her voice. "Call you on my break."

"Wait—no, don’t hang up! Marisol, I swear to God—"

Click.

She smiled wickedly in the dim light of the garage, her laughter bouncing off the concrete.

"That’s right," she whispered to herself. "No more spending Marisol’s money."

She parked and sat in silence for a moment, savoring the panic in his voice, the unraveling of his carefully woven lies. He was going to slip up. And when he did?

She would be ready.