Not much background is needed, but the basic facts are crucial to understand what happened after the defining event. I'm Grant Oster. While in graduate school getting my M Sc. degree in chemistry I met Laura. I fell in love immediately; I think it took her six months, until just before she got her M A in art history, before she fell in love with me, but it happened. While I don't think that either of us was especially experienced, as far as I was concerned our sex life was excellent, and she never voiced any complaints and seemed to orgasm regularly, both from oral activities and vaginal penetration. We got married less than a year after she got her M A, and got jobs in the same city, her teaching at a community college, me teaching part time at a state university while also working part time with a science consulting firm.
After three years of marriage I quit the university and worked full time as a consultant. I became an explosives expert and one of the clients I worked for was the Federal Government. About the time that our first daughter, Angela, was born I was doing most of my work for the Government and it involved quite a bit of travel. I know that it was hard on Laura but I did offer to quit and get a full time teaching job at a local college – which had tried to recruit me many times. However, Laura liked the money that my job brought in and the lifestyle that it afforded us, and encouraged me to stick with it. "I can survive, I'm self-sufficient," was her smiling mantra.
My travel had not let up too much by the time of the birth of our second daughter, Grace, two years after Angela was born. I again offered to change professions, but again Laura insisted that I stick with my consulting job since we now had an extra mouth to feed, clothe, and educate.
When the girls were five and seven my schedule let up for a time, and with my help with child care and once the girls went to school, Laura decided to go back to work. She got an administrative job at the local university primarily dealing with the liberal arts college. For reasons that I never really understood – but didn't concern me because it made her happy – Laura developed a keen interest in photography. We have more than a dozen albums chronically our lives with the kids.
Another seemingly odd interest that Laura developed at the time was in other languages, primarily Italian.
There were now times when Laura travelled on her job, especially to Chicago where she had meetings with benefactors, visiting professors, and the Art Institute, and visits with Gina, a friend of hers from college who was an Italian exchange student at the time but was now working in Chicago.
When the kids were eight and ten terrorist activities around the world made my skill set extremely valuable to the Federal Government, and I was recruited to work full time for them for a two year period. I talked it over with Laura many hours before accepting the assignment because it would result in much more travel for that two year – or perhaps longer – period and I would be gone sometimes for more than a month at a time. Laura encouraged me to take it, saying that she and the girls would miss me, but would be fine.
My assignment with the Federal Government caused me to be away for two Christmases in a row, when Grace was nine and ten, and Angela eleven and twelve, which was heartbreaking. Laura took the girls with her to visit Gina in Chicago. I talked to them on the phone every day for their week visit, and they seemed happy enough. Apparently a number of Gina's relatives were visiting, some of whom the girls had met before, and some of whom were kids about our daughters' ages.
Finally, just before Thanksgiving after I had worked on assignment providing my expertise to fight terrorists for more than two years, I went back to full time consulting and rarely travelled. Laura continued to travel occasionally, normally about once a month for two or three days, mostly to Chicago, and I was happy to assume all parental duties for Grace and Angela when she was gone, although sometimes they went with her.
I guess it is to be expected that girls become closer to their mother than their father. While I had a good relationship with Grace and Angela there really never were important things that they confided in me, and they rarely asked my opinion about personal matters, although it seemed that they were always sharing personal information with Laura. It didn't really bother me – much – except for one thing. They never, ever, were their normal chatty selves about their experiences when they went with their mother to Chicago; while they weren't withdrawn about it, they never volunteered information, and oftentimes would laughingly change the subject.
Just before eighteen year old Grace went to college out of state, while Angela was a junior at another out of state college at that time, Laura had a dark period. When I caught her crying on several occasions I asked her what was wrong. She chalked it up to becoming an empty-nester. She said what she needed was to take the girls on a shopping trip to Chicago (they don't have stores in Columbus?). The trip was planned hurriedly, and apparently required several long phone conversations with Gina – in Italian. Since I didn't understand Italian, I just accepted what Laura told me about the details. I had no reason to doubt her even though she had never been as weepy before as she had been the three or four days before she and the girls went to Chicago.
Laura returned from Chicago after three days more sanguine, although still not completely normal. That was not the surprising thing, however; what was surprising were the few purchases that the three of them came back with from their shopping excursion. When I inquired about it I was told that some of the items would be shipped later, including some directly to the girls' college addresses.
I did notice that my sex life – which never was bad, except, of course, when I was away for extended periods of time because I never cheated on Laura – got better once Grace left for school. I attributed this to Laura and I growing closer as empty-nesters, and I greatly enjoyed the increased frequency. Then the defining event of my story "happened."
I played hooky from work starting about noon one Thursday without telling Laura, who was at her normal place of employment. I had planned to play nine holes of golf, but rain doused that expectation. However, I was planning for our upcoming anniversary. I wanted to give Laura a surprise party, so I talked with an event planner and started the ball rolling. About 3:00 p. m. a deliveryman came to the door with a wooden crate with "Fragile" markings on it, bringing it up the four front stairs of our house using a dolly. It was addressed to Laura. I signed for it, and with the help of the deliveryman we placed it in the living room in a stable position with the "This Side Up" properly positioned.
I thought that the delivery of the crate was odd. I couldn't imagine what was in it. I looked at the return address and it said "Romano Photography Studios," followed by an address in Chicago which I knew to be in the center city. I called Laura at work and told her about the arrival of the crate. She got quiet at first and then said "Oh, that's work related. They were supposed to send it to me at the office – I guess they screwed up. Just leave it, unopened, and I'll have someone help me bring it to the office tomorrow."
That would normally be a rational explanation except for three things. 1) The complete silence on the other end of the phone for several seconds after I first told her about the crate – a long enough time that I almost asked "are you still there?" since Laura is never at a loss for words. 2) The way that she told me not to open it; it was a command much more than a request and her voice was clearly stressed when she said it. Having worked anti-terrorism for several years I had become, through osmosis, aware of the importance of stress and nuance. 3) Her entire demeanor – not just the command not to open the crate – was uptight.
My curiosity was aroused sufficiently that I took a few photos of the crate, and entered the return address information into my laptop.
A fourth thing making me uneasy occurred as soon as Laura returned from work. With only a perfunctory greeting she raced to the crate, looked it over – obviously she was inspecting it to see if I had tampered with it – and then she was very vague and stand-offish when I asked her what was in it. "Not sure, exactly, but I was expecting some artwork from an organization in Chicago that wanted to set up an exhibition at my school. I'll open it and look at it at work."
"Want me to help and open it now?" I asked, not just to be a good guy, but also to test her reaction.
"Oh, no, no, no – uh – we – need to – uh look at it at work to make sure there was no damage in case an insurance claim – uh – is – needed," the normally glib Laura stammered.
The next morning, even before I left for work, two maintenance guys from the college she worked at showed up and carefully moved the crate to a school van under Laura's careful supervision.
When I said "I can't wait to see the showing at the school when you have everything set up," it wasn't because I was really interested in seeing an exhibition. It was to test Laura's reaction.
Without making eye contact, her response was "Uh, I'm not sure that's what it is, but, uh, of, uh, course I'll...we'll...I'll let you know...uh...if we decide on an exhibition." Two stammers in less than fourteen hours on the same subject by the normally fluent Laura! If that didn't pique my interest, nothing would!
The fifth thing that set me on edge and aroused my suspicions was that Laura never again said anything about the enigmatic crate.
In the two weeks after the arrival of the mysterious package I learned most of what was publicly available about "Romano Photography Studios." It was the business entity in the U S for a worldwide famous photographer – Piero Romano – someone I had probably tangentially heard of at one time or another, but surprisingly someone who I'm sure that Laura never mentioned despite the fact that both as part of her photography hobby, and her work at the university, she often talked about artists and photographers.
Piero had a very distinctive style. Most of his photos had both true photographic realism in parts and "effects" in other parts. He was considered a master of the traditional photographic effects of bokeh (blur), panning, rule of thirds, and long exposure, often combing multiple effects in the same photo. He also was the only practitioner of a unique effect named after him, "Romano abilità artistica," [which I understand loosely translates into "Romano's artistry," but that I never really have seen written in English] which no one else has been able to duplicate and which is difficult to describe in words. My best try would be to say that it makes some features super-realistic while adjacent ones are fuzzy, and with change of color (if the photo is a color one) or shade within the same object; but that description doesn't do it justice.
While much of the information about Piero was intellectually and artistically interesting, there were two facts that blew me away; the person in charge of administration at his studio was his niece, Gina Romano Bianchi (I only knew Laura's friend – who I had only met once, and never in Chicago – by her married name, Gina Bianchi); and he had died in a car crash on September 1st of the previous year, and his memorial service in Chicago (before his body was shipped to his ancestral burial plot in Italy) was on September 6th.
How coincidental that it was around September 2nd that Laura got weepy, supposedly about becoming an empty-nester; and that Laura and the girls were on their "shopping" trip to Chicago September 5th through 8th! While I'm not a rocket scientist I am smart enough to have a Masters in Chemistry from one of the top ten schools in the country, so I was able to figure it out. Despite how crushing it was to me the only logical explanation was that Laura had been having a true love affair with Piero Romano for at least ten years and that my daughters knew all about it.
Another interesting fact – there would be a Chicago exhibition of Piero's most famous and stimulating works – including those owned by private collectors and some of which had never been seen in public before – April 16th – 18th, three weeks away at the time that I found out this information. I was sure that Laura would have a business trip to Chicago around that time – despite the fact that the 18th was my birthday – and would likely have as part of the exhibition the photographs that were in the crate shipped to our house two weeks previously.
I was never more motivated in my life in coming up with a plan for dealing with my slut wife and traitorous daughters. Because of my initial rage – which I would have to quell in order to pull off what I wanted to – I had to arrange a "business trip" for the night of the day that I found out the incriminating information, and two nights hence. I profusely apologized to Laura in the message that I left on her work phone after packing what I needed from our house for a three night stay in a local hotel, promising to "make it up to you."
Part I of my plan was to get all the necessary divorce papers ready to serve and file once I had the proof that I expected. Part II was to find a way to get someone to visit and film the Chicago exhibition on the first day it opened – the 16th – which was by invitation only. Part III was to get my ducks in a row to come out of the divorce with as many material goods and money as possible – I no longer cared about my relationship with Laura and was very, very close to having the same feelings about Grace and Angela. Part IV was ultimate revenge, including after the divorce was final.
Part I was no problem. I got a recommendation for a good divorce attorney, Gail Schiff. She advised me of everything that I needed to do, and despite the fact that she recommended that the grounds be "irreconcilable differences" she was willing to go along with "long standing adultery." Gail just needed a modicum of proof before she could file the papers – which I expected to have for her the morning of the 17th – and she could arrange for service on Laura by a law enforcement agent other than the county sheriff and with a private process server to record the events – at the last night of the exhibition on the 18th.
For Part II I gathered as much information as I could about art appraisers having any relation to Chicago. I found a young appraiser named Roberto Milan who was trying to build his business. I actually went to see him in Chicago and talked with him almost a full day.
Roberto was familiar in general with Piero's work, was certain that he could get an invitation to the opening on the 16th, was not adverse to filming what I thought would be the photos that would interest me using a small, expensive, easily hidden HD camera that I gave him, and he thought that he could make a good and "high" appraisal of what the photos I expected to be there were worth.
"Some really experienced appraiser may be able to tear down my analysis, but I would welcome the challenge since it would help establish me as a real player in the art appraisal world," were the final words that got me to hire Roberto.
For a segment of Parts III and IV I cashed in two bearer bonds that we had had in our safe deposit box for at least twelve years. I didn't remember if Laura ever really knew about them, and she certainly wouldn't remember them now. They were now worth, together, about $25,000.
For another segment of Part III I provided my attorney with a complete list of all of our assets, including an appraisal of our house. I took photographs of all of Laura's jewelry and all contents of our safe deposit box (minus the bearer bonds, of course), and provided my attorney with updated bank statements, credit card numbers and outstanding purchases, retirement plans, and brokerage accounts.
As a small segment of Part IV the last day that I was supposedly out of town I snuck into the house while Laura was at work and with a magic marker obliterated my face on every single photograph in the dozen or so albums that Laura had made over the years. Never having reviewed them in their entireties before, I was surprised at the low percentage of photos that I was in – no more than 15%. I also found two photos I had never seen before that even if I had I probably would have considered innocent – they had Laura, Gina, Grace, Angela, and – drumroll – Piero in them. These photos I made high quality scans and photocopies of before returning them to the album with black marker across them and an arrow to Piero and a legend "the love of Laura's life."
Laura had told me two days after I got back from my "business trip" that she had to go to Chicago from the morning of the 15th to the afternoon of the 19th. When I expressed disappointment that she wouldn't be with me on my birthday and suggested that I accompany her she smoothly – apparently she had planned on my reaction – demurred saying that it was "all business" but that she would take me to a resort the following weekend and "Make it up to you in a way that you haven't ever experienced before!" She followed that statement with a passionate kiss, and then pulled down my zipper. Laura rarely gave blow jobs but she did then, with a passion that I hadn't seen before. At that point in time I looked upon her as a three dollar whore so I just enjoyed myself as I held her head to make sure she couldn't pull away as I ejaculated what seemed to be a liter of cum into her mouth. She gagged a little and obviously wasn't pleased, but pretended that she was and that "That was only a sample of what's to come, darling!"
For all of Parts I, III, and IV there was a particularly risky part of my plan. The rest – especially after getting comfortable with and hiring the art appraiser – I was quite confident would fall into place. The risky part was talking to Grace.
I decided that I needed a face-to-face with Grace, so as soon as I dropped Laura off at the airport the morning of the 15th I drove the 180 or so miles from Columbus to Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, where Grace was studying Chemical Engineering.
Why Grace and not Angela?
While both girls were much more their mother than me, Grace was by far more me – at least as far as how her brain worked – than Angela. Neither Angela nor Laura could ever conceive of a course of study in chemical engineering, of course very close to my degrees in chemistry. Also, Grace had a harder time lying than either Angela or Laura, and although her failure to advise me of Laura's love affair with Piero indicated otherwise (or maybe not) was more concerned with a nuclear family than Angela was.
I called ahead to Grace's cellphone when I was about half way there. She actually seemed excited to meet. I told her I'd take her to a late lunch at a real restaurant. We met at the eatery of her choosing – about a mile from campus – and got a secluded booth. After we ate I said "There's something very serious I need to talk with you about, Gracie."
She got a perplexed look on her face. "Are you OK, Dad?"
"Physically, yes; but emotionally – despite my apparent lack of outward displays – I'm a wreck. Before I talk to you, though, I want you to promise that you won't tell anyone about this – including your Mom and Angela – until the day after my birthday. Promise?" I said, holding my hand up in the "I swear" position after I asked "Promise?"
"WOW – sounds serious," she gulped. "OK Dad, I promise; I swear;" she said, holding up her hand and trying to force a smile.
"I found out about your mother's love affair with Piero Romano, and I'm trying to decide whether to divorce her," I blurted out.
"Oh no, Daddy," she cried, holding her hand over her mouth and with tears instantly forming.
"There's only one hope. I need to find out all that you know about it, and I need you to take a DNA test."
"What?" she cried, before going to the brink of a full-out meltdown.
I saw that the restaurant was no place for this. I told her to meet me outside and we'd then go to my car after I paid the bill. I tracked down the waitress, paid in cash with a $20 tip, and found Grace, still in tears on the sidewalk. Once we got into my car I said "OK, Grace, spill; our family's continued existence depends upon it."
After a few minutes of sobbing where she couldn't get anything out – and with me just staring at her – she started talking.
"I didn't realize that Mom was sleeping with Piero – or Uncle Piero as we were told to call him – until I was twelve, despite displays of affection every time that we were in Chicago, especially at Christmas. I know that from comments that Angela made that she knew before then, but I wasn't sophisticated enough to figure it out. I confronted Mom. She said that it was an adult thing; that she was in love with two men and that I'd understand when I grew up; and that you must never know because it might mean the end of our family because you were too 'insensitive' – I think that's the word that she used – to understand it. Therefore I was sworn to secrecy."
Grace broke down again for a while, and then continued. "I hoped that at Piero's funeral that would be the end of it, and that you would never find out. After she made a fool of herself at his casket I confronted her again. I told her that if she just jumped into someone else's arms I'd tell you the whole story. She slapped me and asked how I could think of her as a tramp; that she had loved Piero and loved you and there would be no one else. She just had to honor Piero's memory. I believed her and prayed that this day – when you found out – would never come because I'm sure she won't have another love, or even sexual, affair."
I pumped her for additional information until I determined that it would be counterproductive to get more. She was – as I had hoped – still in a state of anguish when I hit her with the second reason for my visit.
"I am hoping to make it with your mother, Grace; and what you have told me will help. However, I need one more thing. I need us to submit DNA samples to see if you are my biological daughter."
"No, Daddy, no," she cried – "you're my only father."
"I know that I'm your father," I replied, "but I have to know whether I'm your biological one too. Here. Let me swab your cheek, I'll swap mine, we will put them in this envelope," I said, getting a large envelope from the back seat, "and mail it to the testing lab together."
She protested some more, but finally agreed. I swabbed her check. Then I swabbed mine. I pretended to drop my sealed swab on the car floor, and then picked up the one from under my seat in its place. She never noticed. I showed her the letter in the envelope addressed to the lab, she saw two swab containers in the envelope, and then I sealed it up. The instructions in the letter were to mail the results to both Grace directly, and to me.
When I drove her back to campus she watched as I dropped the envelope into an Express Mail mailbox on the way.
When we hugged goodbye she begged "Promise that you'll forgive Mom and make it work."
"I can't promise now since I don't lie like she does. However, you have done your part to increase the chances that it will work. Now remember, don't tell anyone about our talk until the 19th at the earliest."
"I promised," she smiled. Then she stuttered. "There is...uh...one more thing...I should tell you. Mom and Angela will be at a Chicago exhibition of Piero's works, some of which are photographs of Mom, on your birthday. She told me that she was sorry that it worked out like that, but she has to attend since works that she inherited from Piero under his will are going to be displayed. She wanted me to come too, but I had too much work at school."
I smiled and as nonchalantly as I could and replied "I know. Thanks for being honest."
We hugged again and she was off. She didn't see the tears that I shed knowing that my relationship with Angela was now as dead as the one with Laura; but not deciding yet if I could salvage it with Grace.
Grace didn't know that I had recorded our conversation in the car.
There was one thing that Grace didn't know that would cause her pain and was a segment of Part IV of my plan. The swab that I put into the envelope that was supposedly mine was that of an Italian background janitor who worked in my office building who I had been friendly with over the years. I promised to pay to have his ancestry determined as a birthday present to him. He didn't even ask why I needed three swabs instead of one to do that. The one I did send in for testing his heritage showed that he was more than 80% Italian, with some Eastern and Western European small contributions, which made him happy.
Why did I put an Italian's DNA in what was to be tested instead of mine? – because I wanted everyone to hurt. The reason I used an Italian is because during DNA testing they can – even if comparing two sets – find out the heritage of both contributors, and since Piero was Italian I wanted everyone to conclude that he was the father of Grace and – if I could work it out – Angela.
I crossed my fingers that Grace wouldn't tell. I talked to her on the phone the 16th and 18th, and she promised that she hadn't – and since I hadn't heard from Laura I was sure that that was true.
Around 11 p. m. on the 16th Roberto Milan emailed photos of the relevant parts of the Romano exhibit to me. They cut me deeper than I thought that they would; I shook like a leaf as I sobbed while viewing them.
There was a collage or series of ten photos, increasing in size from the first to the last. They all had distinctive Romano characteristics, including in the damning last two brilliant "Romano abilità artistica" effects. The series was entitled "Natale Amore" [Christmas Love].
What initially ripped my heart out were the first two in the series, which showed two girls in the background of a photo of a woman who was unquestionably Laura. While their was bokeh (blurring) of the girls' faces there was now doubt from their hair, what they were wearing (Christmas gifts from my mother) and relative sizes that it was Angela and Grace when they were around nine and eleven. In the second photo of the first two one of Laura's breasts was exposed and she had what could only be described as a "fuck me" look.
The next three in the series Laura was in increasily less dress until in the final one she was naked and obviously playing with herself, although you couldn't see her hand touching her pussy.
The second series started again with a photo where the girls were in the background, this time somewhat older, with the last four progressively risque until the second to last which had Laura in an exceptionally sexual frontal nude pose, and the last one where the clear implication was that she had just been fucked and was in post-coital bliss.
After I threw up, drank some ginger ale, and had a good cry I looked at the photos again. If they didn't rip my heart out I'd have to say that the last two photos were probably the best of their type I had ever seen.
I read the text accompanying Roberto Milan's report. "Sorry; I know that this will be hard on you. The collection is worth a minimum of $300,000, more likely $500,000. The second to last photo alone would bring $125,000-$175,000 if sold separately. The last two photos are the best execution of "Romano abilità artistica" effects in history – not just in my opinion, but in that of at least four other appraisers and art critics that I overheard talking about them. I asked Gina if any were for sale – she put me in touch with the 'owner per Piero's will,' not surprisingly – Laura. Laura said that they weren't for sale at the present time because they were 'priceless' and that the four where she was completely nude would not be sold until after her death. 'I wouldn't want the general public – and especially my husband – seeing me like that while I'm alive,' she said, the 'especially my husband' with a laugh."
Even though he was doing his job, he might as well have ripped my testicles off.
"I have her on tape," were the last words of his email, followed by a frowning emoji.
I emailed the digital form of my recording of what Grace said, and Roberto's photos and words, to my attorney Gail Schiff. She called me at 7:30 the morning of the 17th. "Obviously your petition for divorce is justified in alleging adultery. A law enforcement officer will serve Laura tomorrow night at the gala."
"There's one thing I need to add," I said. "I'll drop it off so that you can express it to your process server with the divorce papers."
I dropped an envelope addressed to Angela off with Gail. In the envelope was a letter from me, a swab of the Italian janitor's cheek, a container with a new swab, and an envelope provided with express mail postage addressed to a DNA lab with included instructions. The letter from me to Angela read:
"Angela. If there is any hope that you and I have a relationship in the future there is one thing that you need to do for me. You need to swab the inside of your cheek, insert it into the envelope addressed to the DNA lab with my swab already in it, and express mail the envelope. As you will see, the lab has instructions to mail the results directly to you at school, as well as to me.
Maybe you don't want a relationship with me in the future. You still need to do as I ask, however, because if you don't I will make sure that our money is tied up for years and you can kiss goodbye the tuition, room and board, and expenses for the end of your junior year and your senior year at that expensive private college you attend. So even if you hate me as much as your actions and inactions toward me in the past would indicate, it is in your self interest to do as I ask. Grace has already complied.
Your father(?), Grant Oster"
I was glad that I wasn't there when the shit hit the fan in Chicago on my birthday. The process server reported to Gail that Laura and Angela were all smiles as they hob-knobbed with the public at about 9 p. m. on the 18th. They were perplexed when they were handed the envelopes by the law enforcement officer as the process server with him took photos. They opened up the envelopes on the spot. The law enforcement officer left, but the process server stayed behind taking more photos until he was kicked out. The photos he emailed to Gail, and Gail to me, showed Laura sinking lower and lower onto the ground, ultimately landing in a fetal position, and Angela first distraught, then angry, and then trying to tend to her prone mother.
"Really put a damper on the festivities," followed by a smiling emoji was the cryptic last comment the process server made in the email accompanying the photos.
Angela called me the morning of the 19th. After expressing her disgust with the way that I handled serving the papers – to which I replied "Tough shit traitorous bitch – tell it to someone who gives a damn," – a type of words I had never talked to her with before in her life, she said "I'm not inclined to do the DNA thing."
"Don't want to find out who your biological father is instead of the sap who's been supporting you all these hears?" I sarcastically asked.
"You are my father," she replied.
"Maybe – maybe not," I responded. "One thing is for sure, however. I've already had my attorney freeze all of your mother's and my accounts and I can assure you that there will be NO money for your education – or even living expenses since you're twenty years old – in the future unless you mail that envelope with your cheek swab. Now that I think of it, I'll need a video of you swabbing your cheek, putting it in the envelope, and mailing it – all contemporaneously – in order to believe you in view of the lies that you've told me over the years."
"That's cruel – I haven't lied to you," she snarled.
"Oh really," I snickered. "You didn't tell the 'whole truth' though did you. Your sister has remorse and will get her tuition paid. You are apparently as vile a bitch as your mother so I'm not going to waste time discussing it with you because you make me sick. Either do as I say and email me the video, or this is the last conversation that we ever have in your life!" With that I slammed the phone down – it's nice to have a land line where you can make a statement by slamming the phone down rather than simply pushing that red button, which provided no emphasis, on a cell phone.
The vile mother bitch didn't try and call me the 18th-21st, and probably delayed her return to Columbus for two days, commiserating with her bosom buddy Gina. The excitement at the exhibition on the 18th was reported not only in two major Chicago papers, but in two national art publications. A photo of prone Laura – obviously sold to them by the process server – appeared in each. I got a good chuckle between by urges to expel my stomach contents.
Apparently the vile bitch did come to the house – no longer a home as far as I was concerned – on the 22nd. I know only because the envelope that I had left on the new front door – one made of steel and with the frame reinforced and the lock changed (just like for the side and rear doors) – was no longer there, and my attorney had left a message on my cellphone that we needed to talk.
The envelope was addressed to "Vile Fucking Slut," which I assumed that Laura would know was her. My inside message was terse: "Hey bitch: Have your attorney contact mine about when you can pick up your personal stuff. The sooner we sell the house and get our sham of a marriage over with the better. I will fight every attempt by you to live back in this house until it is sold. Do something decent for the first time in our farcical relationship – don't fight it (not that you would for anything aside from economic reasons anyway since you have zero love or respect for me). Your formerly clueless ex, Grant. P. S. The doors are bobby trapped. Any unauthorized entry will start all of your previous family albums on fire."
It required a court appearance by the attorneys for something to be worked out with respect to living arrangements. I probably could have gotten exactly what I wanted if I didn't put that P. S. on the note to the slut, but I couldn't help myself. We finally – through our attorneys – agreed to both vacate the house and immediately put it on the market, with the amount of our temporary housing expenses considered in the division of assets.
Laura tried to be difficult in the monetary negotiations – but she had no bargaining power because she acquired her precious photographs from Piero while we were still married. When I demanded five photographs – she could choose one, then me, etc., until all ten were divvied up – according to her attorney she got hysterical, especially since by that time she had seen how I had doctored the family photo albums. At Laura's insistence we took Roberto's appraisal of the photographs, one done by an appraiser hired by her, and one by a neutral appraiser. Hilariously Roberto's was the lowest one, costing her $200,000 more than if she had accepted his appraisal. Since this was seriously cutting into what she would end up with she offered me two of the photographs – that she chose. However she rescinded that offer when I had my attorney tell her's that I agreed as long as she had them delivered to the local firing range and she watched what I did to them.
When all was said and done by the time the divorce proceedings had concluded Laura was left with her personal possessions (including all albums – she was pissed that I didn't want any of them), half the furniture, and one-quarter of the sale price of the house – nothing else, including no alimony; but a suspended jail sentence (more about that later).
We did agree to jointly pay all of the college expenses of Grace and Angela until they graduated, but nothing more than that.
As for Angela and Grace, as expected the DNA results came back that they were not my biological daughters. That infuriated Laura so much that she almost had a stroke. I talked to Grace about it – not Angela who had complied with my request solely to get her college expenses paid and apparently was happy with no future relationship with me.
"Dad, Mom says that the results are wrong. She said that while she was married to you she never had sex with anyone besides you and Piero, and that she never even met Piero before I was born."
"Then why is your father of Italian ancestry like Piero while I'm Dutch all the way back on both sides of my family? Your mother has demonstrated that she is a pathological liar, having lied to me about loving me for the entire twenty four plus years of our relationship, so why would you believe that anything that she says is true?"
"She says she wants another DNA test."
"Not gonna happen because you're not minor children and it has nothing to do with the divorce – I just wanted to know in my mind, and have you and Angela know – the truth. Plus you saw me swab my cheek and put the swab in the envelope, and then mail it, yourself."
"Dad – Mom also wants to talk with you person to person. She says that she's made the request through her attorney a number of times but isn't even sure that your attorney gave you the message because she never got a response."
"She didn't get a response because I told my attorney to ignore her request. What possible reason could I have to talk to that slut?"
"Dad, please don't call her that to me; I still love her despite her faults. I'm asking you, please, as a favor to me that you talk with her for an hour. Please."
"Sorry, Grace, no can do. I have forgiven you and would like to maintain a relationship with you, but there is nothing – and I mean nothing – that would cause me to talk with her."
Now for Laura's suspended jail sentence and getting only one quarter the proceeds of the sale of the house:
After my phone conversation with Grace about the DNA test and Laura's desire for a talk with me, she did something stupid. I thought that she might pull something so I hooked up and walked around with a panic button connected directly to a private security company.
One night a woman knocked on the door of the condo that I was renting during the divorce proceedings until the final financial details were worked out. I didn't see the two big guys, and Laura, standing out to the side when I looked through the peephole. As soon as I opened the door the two big guys burst in and grabbed me, but not before I pushed my silent panic button. Once they grabbed me they yanked me over to a chair and tied me too it while Laura entered and the other woman took off.
"Grant, I'm sorry that I had to do this, but you refused to meet with me and refused to redo the DNA test which both you and I know is wrong."
She then started out with some happy horseshit about always loving me and that she just loved Piero in addition and that her heart was big enough for both of us. She realized that we were past the point of reconciliation but just wanted to get things off her chest. As she was talking to me she was holding a swab up; obviously she was going to force a DNA sample from me.
It really irritated her that I made no verbal response whatsoever to anything that she said; I refused to even acknowledge her presence, trying my best to avoid all eye contact. Fortunately, as she was about to have her two goons pry my mouth open for a DNA swab there was a response to my panic button. The security company had called the police and three cops – with guns drawn – barged into the house. They found me tied up, and one of the miscreants had an illegal weapon in his pants pocket.
I explained the situation as the cops held the three of them at gunpoint. The cops ignored Laura's plea to simply let them go – they meant no harm – and they arrested the three of them.
The little kidnapping event didn't play well with the judge in our divorce proceedings. After she let it be known that if she had to rule it would be REALLY bad for Laura, I got the division of assets and other considerations set forth above.
The criminal court took pity on Laura since it was her first offense. She got a two year suspended sentence, and a $10,000 fine (which was from her share alone of the marital assets). The two guys didn't fare as well because they had shady histories. One got a year in prison before parole was possible, and the one with the illegal weapon got five years before parole was possible.
Part IV of my plan did not end when the divorce was final, although I will not admit here or anywhere else that I had anything to do with it. "Just Karma" is what I always respond when asked about it.
Eighteen months after the divorce was final, I was on a cruise of the Caribbean with a thirty two year old hot little divorcee who loved to be treated right and richly, and who loved to fuck even more. She looked too much like Laura at that age, and was too hot-blooded, for me to look for a permanent relationship with her, but she was fun to be with even though she wore me out fucking.
While I was fucking on the cruise Laura's apartment was broken into while she was at work. The place was trashed. Somethings were stolen, including the second most provocative and valuable Romano photo of Laura (the most valuable and provocative one she loaned on a long term basis to an art gallery, so it wasn't in her apartment). More things were destroyed than stolen, however, including seven of the other eight remaining Romano photos, and all of the family photo albums (all except the two earliest ones).
Of course I was a suspect when I got back. Obviously I couldn't have done it myself since I was on a boat two thousand miles away, but Laura insisted to the cops that I paid someone to do it.
When the cops approached me as soon as they started asking questions indicating that I was a suspect I refused to talk to them and got a criminal attorney. After searching my phone and financial records – which of course did not include the two cashed-out bearer bonds that were never part of the divorce estate – they could find no indication that I could have paid anyone to do it, nor was there any association that they could find with anyone who was capable of doing what had been done.
I got the distinct impression that six months after their initial contact with me that the cops for all practical purposes gave up even though I'm sure that Laura kept pestering them. Once the statute of limitations expired I threw a party.
My "It's all finally over" party was attended mostly by friends. My parents were no longer alive, but my brother, his wife, my two nephews, my new love interest – Melody (a widower my age) – Melody's two adult children, and Grace, her husband, and my granddaughter were there.
I then had, and now have, no relationship with Angela. I wasn't invited to her wedding and wouldn't have gone even if invited. I did hear from Grace that Angela's husband caught her cheating, however, and she is in the early stages of divorce proceedings.
Grace was given an ultimatum by Laura – either cut all ties with me, or her. To everyone's surprise – including mine – she chose me, probably because she was convinced that Laura was – as I had represented – a pathological liar. Even more importantly Grace realized how horrible it was that her mother threw her relationship with her paramour in her daughter's faces, and had them lie to cover up her cheating. Grace didn't want her children exposed to that attitude.
Only one thing has caused friction between Grace and I in the last five years. I told her the truth about the DNA testing. She was mad at me at first, but forgave me – just like I forgave her for her duplicity over the years – and was actually very happy that I was her biological father (I had another DNA test done to prove it) in addition to her practical one.
I do believe that Laura has moved to Chicago – but I don't know for sure, and even more importantly don't give a shit.
