I Sent My Husband to Jail
I rushed into the bedroom, and she was convulsing, her little face turning purple.
Donna! I held her, my hand on her burning skin, my heart instantly clenching.
The thermometer read 40.2℃—a high fever seizure.
I grabbed my phone and called Harvey Cooper, my voice shaking: "Come back quick, our daughter needs emergency care!"
An impatient yawn came from the other end: "It's not that serious. I've got meetings tomorrow; you take her first."
"The hospital wants a 2000 dollars deposit. I didn't bring enough money!" I almost shouted.
Harvey was silent for a few seconds, then his voice turned cold: "You're a CEO of a listed company, and you can't even come up with 2000? Stop making excuses."
The call was disconnected.
I gritted my teeth and used the remaining balance on card to pay the deposit.
When my daughter was rushed into the emergency room, I leaned against the wall, my fingers trembling as I checked the bank card balance.
For seven years, my annual salary grew from millions to tens of millions, all entrusted to Harvey to manage.
But now, all the linked accounts together have only 250.36 dollars.
Even that money was transferred out yesterday—the transfer record shows the recipient was Harvey's personal account.
My mind went completely blank.
Suddenly I remembered a message from the kindergarten teacher yesterday: "Ms. Esperson, Donna didn't bring lunch again today, so I gave her some bread."
My heart sank instantly.
I sent Harvey 5,000 dollars every month for our daughter's living expenses, telling him to pick the best kindergarten.
But he just casually enrolled Donna into a shabby suburban kindergarten with rundown facilities and teachers who changed frequently.
Once, I left work early to pick her up and found her sitting in a corner, clutching half a cold steamed bun, with only pickled vegetables in her lunchbox.
At the time, Harvey said, "Kids need to go through hardships to learn. A too-good kindergarten would spoil her."
I actually believed it.
What hit me even harder was that yesterday a friend sent me a photo—Harvey was at a high-end downtown restaurant, buying a custom birthday cake worth 8,888 dollars for a boy.
That boy is Harvey's childhood sweetheart, Elle Lepucius's son, Max Lepucius.
The emergency room lights went off, and the doctor said our daughter was out of immediate danger but needed to stay hospitalized for observation.
Watching my daughter with her pale face in the hospital bed, I wiped away my tears.
Harvey Cooper, it's over.
I pulled out my phone and called the company's legal director: "Start the divorce proceedings, and also find out where every penny of my assets from the last seven years has gone."
The next day at noon, I took my daughter to a Western restaurant near the hospital to help with her nutrition.
Right after ordering the kids' meal, I saw the window seats crowded with people.
It was Harvey.
He was wearing a tailored suit, holding that 8,888-dollars cake, smiling as he put a birthday hat on Max.
Elle sat beside him, her bright red polished hand resting on Harvey's shoulder, acting all cozy.
My daughter's fingers gripped my shirt tightly, and she quietly asked, "Mom, why is dad there? Who's that little kid?"
My throat tightened, and just as I was about to speak, my daughter broke free from my hands and ran ahead.
"Dad!" she clung to Harvey's leg. "Why didn't you come see me yesterday? I almost died."
Harvey's smile froze on his face. He pushed Donna away, his tone cold: "Didn't you see I was busy? You're being so irresponsible."
Max tilted her head up, pouted, and said, "Dad says I'm his good boy, but you're the kid nobody wants."
Tears streamed down my daughter's face: "Whose dad are you? Don't you like me anymore?"
Harvey's face darkened, and he raised his hand to hit Donna.
I rushed over to stop him, my voice cold: "Harvey Cooper, don't you dare touch her!"
Everyone around us turned to look.
Harvey, both angry and ashamed, snapped: "Leona, have you caused enough trouble? Bringing the kid here to embarrass me—can't you just leave me alone?"
"Leave you alone?" I pulled out my phone, showing the bank records and photos from the Kindergarten. "You use my money to buy your mistress's son ridiculously expensive cakes, while your own daughter eats steamed buns and pickled vegetables, stuck in a rundown Kindergarten. And you have the nerve to talk about peace?"
Elle stood up, pretending to be hurt: "Ms. Esperson, you're misunderstanding. Harvey and I are just friends. Please don't slander us."
"Just Friends?" I sneered, "So why will he use the money I earned to buy you luxuries and let you live in the house I paid the down payment."
Harvey grabbed Elle and Max, trying to leave, but the crowd blocked them.
"Men like this are disgusting!"
"How can he be so cruel to his own daughter and still have the nerve to call himself a father?"
Amid the murmurs, Harvey pushed through the crowd and ran off in embarrassment.
I crouched down and held my daughter who wouldn't stop crying: "Donna, don't be afraid. Mom will never let you be hurt like this again."
That night, when I got home, I opened the safe in my study.
It was completely empty — my degree certificate, property documents, even my wedding ring were all missing.
I immediately contacted the legal team: "Speed up the investigation, and also prepare to file a police report accusing Harvey of illegal property appropriation."
Early on the third morning, loud banging came from outside the door.
"Leona Esperson! Open the door! Where did you hide my stuff?" It was Harvey's voice.
I looked through the peephole and saw him with a locksmith, holding a baseball bat.
"I've called the police. Keep causing trouble, and you'll be the one facing the consequences." I shouted toward the door.
"Calling the police? Do you think I'm afraid of you?" Harvey kicked the door. "This house is property acquired after our marriage. I have a share in it too!"
The locksmith quickly pried open the door lock.
Harvey stormed in, swinging a baseball bat at the living room coffee table: "How dare you divorce me! How dare you investigate me! Let's see how arrogant you are then!"
Our daughter was terrified, hiding behind me and trembling all over.
I shielded our daughter and pulled out my phone to record: "Harvey, if you dare lay a hand on me, I'll make sure the whole world knows exactly who you are."
Harvey's eyes were red as he reached out to grab my hair.
Just then, the community security guard rushed in — I had already contacted property management, warning them someone might break in.
Two security guards pinned Harvey down and took the baseball bat from his hands.
"Sir, please come with us to the property office, or we'll call the police."
Harvey struggled and shouted, "Leona, you b*tch! I won't let you go!"
I watched as the security guards dragged him away and finally let out a sigh of relief.
That afternoon, the legal team sent over the investigation results.
Harvey not only transferred all my savings but also forged my signature to move both our post-marriage properties and three luxury cars to his parents and Elle Lepucius.
He even secretly transferred part of my company shares to Elle's brother through a holding agreement.
I was shaking with anger but quickly calmed myself down.
I called the kindergarten principal: "Principal Smith, I want to donate 10 million dollars to the kindergarten to improve the facilities and the kids' meals."
The principal was both surprised and overjoyed: "Ms. Esperson, thank you so much!"
When I went to the kindergarten to make the donation, Elle suddenly rushed over.
She pointed at my nose and shouted, "Leona Esperson, you wi*ch! It can't satisfy you to steal Harvey from me, now you want to ruin my reputation!"
I looked at her, treating her like some shrew, then pulled out my phone to play a recording—it was from her conversation with Harvey yesterday, where she clearly said, "Transfer all of Leona's property as soon as possible," and also, "Don't let Donna, that little girl, get in the way."
The parents and teachers around us were stunned.
Elle's face turned deathly pale; she tried to snatch my phone, but the security guard stopped her.
"Mrs. Lepucius, please leave, or we'll have to call the police," the principal said sternly.
Elle glared at me, then slunk away.
That night, I handed over all the evidence of Harvey transferring property, mistreating our daughter, and living with Elle to a trusted journalist.
The next morning, topics like "Listed CEO's husband siphons off millions in property," "Harvey, the deadbeat dad," and "Elle, the homewrecker" shot straight to the top of the trending list.
Netizens dug up Harvey's personal info — his alma mater, work history, even his home address — all exposed to the public.
He didn't dare go to the office and hid out in Elle's rented apartment, but someone snapped photos of him that quickly spread all over the internet.
Elle wasn't doing much better either.
Someone leaked surveillance footage of her causing a scene at the kindergarten, along with photos of her buying luxury goods with my money and frequenting upscale places.
Netizens flooded in, accusing her of "encouraging Harvey to abuse his legitimate children" and "living off others with shameless entitlement."
The company she worked for quickly released a statement and fired her.
What's more infuriating is Harvey's parents actually showed up downstairs at my company to make a scene.
They held up signs that read, "Leona Esperson cheated during her marriage with the chairman in her company, forcing her husband to divorce," shouting loudly at the entrance.
I had the security guard record their words and actions, then reported it directly to the police.
After investigating, the police found them suspected of defamation and sentenced both to five days of administrative detention.
Harvey was backed into a corner and had no choice but to hold a press conference to offer a fake apology.
Dressed all in black, he sobbed in front of the camera: "I know I was wrong, it's all my fault. Leona is usually too busy to manage the household, and it was a moment of madness..."
Before he could finish speaking, the big screen suddenly started playing a video.
In the video, Harvey was holding Max, having a blast at the amusement park, laughing as he said, "That's my boy, way better than Donna, that little pain in the neck."
Behind, there were intimate scenes between him and Elle at the hotel.
Harvey's face instantly went pale.
Reporters swarmed forward, their questions coming fast and furious.
"Mr. Cooper, you say Ms. Esperson doesn't handle the household, so why did you use her money to buy expensive cakes for your mistress?"
"Have you been planning to transfer the property for a long time?"
Harvey couldn't say a word, pushed the reporters aside, and fled in embarrassment.
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