Chapter 166

Chapter 166

Late at night, darkness hung thick as ink over the neighborhood. The entire complex had fallen silent.

Lisa and Michael crouched low, using the shadows of the landscaping for cover as they snuck into the upscale residential community where Jasmine lived.

They had a clear division of labor—Lisa kept watch while Michael, carrying specialized tools, headed straight for the parking area and located Jasmine's car with precision.

The whole operation took only a few minutes. Michael expertly pried open the vehicle's undercarriage protective cover and tampered with the brake line in a calculated, vicious move. His actions were swift and ruthless, leaving no obvious trace. Once Jasmine drove the car tomorrow, the brakes would fail at high speed. All that awaited her was a fatal crash.

"Done. Let's get out of here," Michael muttered, packing up his tools.

They had just straightened up to leave when a security guard happened to pass by the parking spot. From a distance, he caught sight of two dark figures moving suspiciously around a car.

The guard's instincts kicked in immediately. He grabbed his walkie-talkie and barked, "Stop right there! Who's there?"

Lisa and Michael bolted.

The guard knew something was wrong. He spoke urgently into the radio. "Suspicious individuals in Zone 3 parking lot. Possible car thieves. Everyone get over here now!"

Soon, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the lot.

Lisa and Michael panicked. Guilt-ridden and terrified, they had no intention of sticking around. Without bothering to cover their tracks, they turned and ran, weaving through the maze of residential buildings until they finally escaped the complex.

By the time the security team arrived, the parking spot was empty.

The guards circled the vehicle, checking for damage or missing property. Finding nothing, they assumed it was just some vagrant or troublemaker who'd fled after a failed theft attempt.

Figuring it wasn't worth the hassle, the guards didn't bother reviewing the surveillance footage. They brushed the incident aside and moved on.

Once they were clear of the complex, the tension Lisa had been holding in finally exploded. She turned on Michael, her voice icy with fury. "Can't you be more careful? We almost got caught red-handed! If we'd been arrested, we'd both be finished!"

Michael shrugged it off dismissively. "What are you freaking out about? We didn't get caught. Once Jasmine has that accident tomorrow, we'll get the ten million Grace promised. What's there to worry about?"

Lisa was furious, but the thought of ten million dollars coming their way made her bite her tongue.

What mattered more than money?

The two drove home in a cold, silent standoff, each nursing their own resentment.

But the moment they pushed open the front door, several intimidating men with hostile expressions blocked them in the entryway.

"Mr. Dawson, finally decided to come home, huh?"

The lead creditor stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Michael.

Michael immediately plastered on a placating smile. "Hey, you're here! Why didn't you call ahead? Come on, let's talk outside—"

The creditor spat on him. "Still trying to dodge me?"

Lisa's brow furrowed. "Who are you people?"

The creditor sneered. "Your husband owes me a lot of money. And he's been avoiding payment." He turned back to Michael. "Michael, you're not wriggling out of this one. You're way past the deadline. You're paying up today."

Lisa's expression darkened. She shot Michael a furious look. "You're in debt again? Didn't I tell you to stop gambling?"

Michael's face turned ugly. He avoided her gaze and said nothing, his silence infuriatingly defiant.

The creditor laughed mockingly. "Too ashamed to tell her? Fine, I'll do it for you. A few days ago, Mr. Dawson here got the itch and lost big at the tables. Racked up seven hundred thousand dollars in gambling debt. Then, after losing his shirt, he thought he'd blow off steam with some women. Ran into a scam instead and got blackmailed. Came crawling to me for more money to make it go away. All told, he owes me one million dollars. Signed IOU, his own handwriting. No way to weasel out of it."

One million dollars.

The number hit Lisa like a thunderclap.

Her blood boiled. She stared at Michael in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind? Michael, do you even have a brain?"

Michael, humiliated by having his dirty laundry aired in public, turned his shame into anger. "This is my business! I'll handle it myself. Stay out of it!"

"Handle it yourself?" Lisa laughed bitterly. The last shred of patience she had for him evaporated. "I'm done with you. You're lazy, you're a gambling addict, and now this ridiculous mess. I'm not going down with you. We're getting divorced. Right now."

Michael didn't even flinch. In fact, he looked completely unbothered. His tone was greedy and blunt. "Fine by me. Divorce it is. But marital assets get split fifty-fifty. Not a penny less."

That was the final straw.

Lisa had scrimped and saved every dollar. She'd bent over backward maintaining connections, sucking up to Grace, running herself ragged for this household. And Michael? He'd done nothing but cause trouble and burn through money. Now he had the audacity to demand half of everything.

"In your dreams!" Lisa's eyes blazed red. Her voice rose sharply. "I earned most of our savings. What gives you the right to take half? What have you ever done except make problems?"

"I have the right because it's 'marital property'!" Michael shot back arrogantly.

Their argument escalated into a full-blown brawl.

In the cramped living room, they shoved and clawed at each other, hurling insults, a grotesque spectacle.

The debt collectors watched the scene unfold with cold indifference, their faces etched with impatience.

The lead creditor cut in sharply. "Enough. We don't have time for this circus."

His icy gaze landed on Michael. He delivered his ultimatum. "You've got three days. Come up with one million dollars. After that, if you don't have the money, we're going to the cops. And we'll hand over all the evidence—gambling, solicitation, the works. Your choice. Pay up, or go to prison."

The blunt threat shattered what little composure Michael had left.

The creditors left, slamming the door behind them. The apartment fell silent.

Michael, who'd been throwing punches just moments ago, suddenly crumpled. His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees in front of Lisa, his tone pleading and desperate. "Lisa, I was wrong. I know I was wrong. Please, you have to help me. If I get arrested, my life is over. Please."

Lisa looked down at the pathetic man kneeling before her. All she felt was disgust and contempt. Her voice was cold as ice. "Why should I help you? This is your mess. Why should I pay for it? Michael, you're selfish and pathetic. We're getting divorced. This has nothing to do with me."

No matter how much Michael begged, Lisa's resolve didn't waver.

Realizing his pleas were useless and that prison was closing in on him, Michael's desperation twisted into something darker. He slowly rose to his feet, his eyes filled with malice, his voice low and venomous. "Fine. You won't help me? You're just going to let me rot? Then nobody's getting out of this clean."