Chapter 1

When I went to replace my bank card, the teller casually mentioned that I had a quarterly patent income of $300,000 under my name.

But as the patent inventor, I had never seen a single cent of it.

Following the account trail, I discovered that over five years, my wife, Trent, had not only secretly transferred over $5.5 million in patent fees that rightfully belonged to me, but she had also been supporting a lover behind my back.

When I confronted her, she looked at me with utter contempt: "What can you do besides tinker with tech?"

Even her lover showed up at my door, tossing a check at me.

"$50,000, stay away from Trent."

I looked at the despicable pair in front of me and suddenly smiled.

They thought I was a pushover, a useless academic they could easily manipulate.

They had no idea that everything they possessed was originally mine.

It was 2 PM, and I stood at the bank counter, reporting my old card lost.

I'd lost the card last week but hadn't gotten around to replacing it.

The teller took my ID, checked the system, and suddenly paused.

"Sir, you have a regular deposit of patent licensing fees under your name. Would you like to link it to your new card?"

I froze.

"What patent licensing fees?"

She turned the screen to show me.

I squinted for three seconds, and my mind exploded.

The screen clearly displayed:

A regular quarterly deposit of $300,000, into a bank card under my name that I'd never seen before.

The deposit history began five years ago and continued until now.

Five years, twenty quarters, $6 million.

My fingers began to tremble.

I remembered five years ago, I was burning the midnight oil in the lab, tirelessly doing R&D.

My wife, Trent, came to me with a stack of documents, asking me to sign. She said it was for registering a company, just going through the procedures, and needed my signature as a "tech partner."

I was so busy back then, I didn't even lift my head. I just grabbed the pen and signed.

She smiled and said, "Ethan, you just focus on your tech. I'll handle the business side of things. You're a tech guy; you don't get business."

From then on, I was sidelined, becoming a nominal consultant.

She never discussed company matters with me.

Every time I asked, she'd say, "Don't worry about it, it's barely anything."

And now, this card received $300,000 every quarter.

So, this was what she meant by "barely anything."

I took a deep breath. My hands stopped shaking. My mind had never been clearer.

"Link it to my new card." My voice was so calm it surprised even me. "From now on, every deposit should be transferred directly to my personal account."

She glanced at me, didn't ask any more questions, and began the process.

Five minutes later, the transaction was complete.

At 7 PM, I returned home.

The house was empty. Trent was still away on a business trip.

She had gotten increasingly busy these past two years, traveling internationally at least once a month, saying she was "negotiating deals, meeting clients."

I used to believe her. Now, thinking back, what was she really busy with?

I walked into her study and opened her computer.

I tried the password three times; it was her birthday.

I logged into her email and started sifting through her correspondence.

The more I read, the colder my hands grew.

Over the past five years, the company had signed seven patent licensing agreements.

Every single agreement licensed my patents.

And in the signature field, it was Trent's name, every single time.

My patents, my technology, she took them to sell for profit.

Yet, she only gave me $1,000 a month for "living expenses," claiming, "the company's not doing well, we need to be careful with money."

A thousand dollars.

I kept scrolling, finding a contact named "Kevin."

The email exchanges started two years ago.

The content slowly shifted from "pleasant to work with" to "miss you," "can't wait for you to come back."

There were also a few photos.

Trent was leaning against a man in a suit, smiling brightly, with the Eiffel Tower in the background.

That was last year, when she said she was "going to France for an industry summit."

I stared at the photos, my knuckles turning white.

Five years. She had lied to me for five years.

I shut the laptop, leaning back in the chair, as the night deepened outside the window.