A Politician's Ex-Wife Returns to a Funeral With Five Children Who Look Exactly Like Him
The following week brought more challenges.
My landlord, usually understanding, called to inquire about the late rent.
He’d “heard things.”
The freelance clients I still had became distant, their emails curt and infrequent.
Elias was tightening the screws.
He wanted to squeeze me until I broke.
But I was more resilient than he knew.
I kept a close eye on the news, not for Elias’s glowing campaign coverage, but for glimpses of Michael Chen.
He was always there, a stoic figure hovering in the background, arranging microphones, whispering into Elias’s ear.
He looked tired, almost haunted.
I needed to make contact with him, but the restraining order made any direct approach impossible.
I couldn’t risk further legal trouble.
I knew Michael’s professional reputation was impeccable, a man dedicated to ethical campaigning.
I also knew Elias Carson.
He was charming on the surface, but underneath, he was a viper.
Eventually, Michael Chen would see too much.
My opportunity came sooner than I expected.
A local news segment featured Elias dedicating a new community park.
The footage showed Elias, smiling broadly, shaking hands, cutting a ribbon.
But then, there was a brief, unscripted moment.
Elias was speaking intensely with a stout, balding man in a suit, identified as Mr. Henderson, a local zoning official.
Michael Chen stood nearby, his face a mask of discomfort, his eyes darting between Elias and the official.
Their interaction seemed strained, too private for a public event.
I zoomed in on the footage, watching Elias’s animated gestures, the way he leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial.
Then, Mr. Henderson’s face blanched.
He nodded quickly, almost submissively, before Elias clapped him on the shoulder, a false show of camaraderie.
It was a perfectly choreographed intimidation, designed to look like a friendly chat.
Later that day, I checked the public records for local business permit applications.
I had submitted an application weeks ago for a small home-based consulting business, a legitimate way to earn money while the children were at home.
It had been pending for an unusually long time.
Now, it was marked “Denied – Zoning Conflict.”
My heart sank.
Elias was using his influence again.
He wasn’t just discrediting me; he was actively sabotaging my ability to earn a living.
He was trying to make me financially destitute.
I sat there, staring at the denial notice, a wave of despair washing over me.
How was I supposed to feed five children, keep a roof over their heads, and fight a powerful politician when he could simply snap his fingers and cut off my income?
The phone rang.
It was an unknown number, a burner phone, I suspected.
I hesitated, then answered.
“Eleanor Sharpe?” a low voice asked.
It was Michael Chen.
My breath caught in my throat.
“Yes,” I managed to say.
“This is Michael Chen,” he said, his voice clipped and urgent.
“Elias’s campaign manager.”
“I know,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Look, I don’t have much time,” he continued, cutting straight to the point.
“I saw what happened with your business permit. And the school situation. It’s… beyond the pale.”
“You saw?” I asked, surprised he even noticed.
“I see everything,” Michael said, a bitter edge to his tone.
“He makes me see everything.”
He paused, then took a deep breath.
“I can’t stomach it anymore, Eleanor. He’s crossing lines. And he’s going to ruin everything, not just for you, but for himself.”
“What are you saying, Michael?” I pressed, my mind racing.
“I’m saying I can help you,” he stated, his voice firm, though I could hear the underlying tension.
“I can help you find *any* physical proof. Something to counter this manufactured narrative.”
My heart leaped, then a wave of caution washed over me.
“Why?” I asked, suspicious.
“Why risk everything for me?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said, his voice flat.
“And because I’m tired of watching him destroy people. He’s going too far. I won’t be a part of it anymore.”
He paused again, a long, heavy silence.
“This will ruin my career, Eleanor,” he warned, his voice low.
“If Elias finds out, I’m done. Politically, professionally, completely. I’m risking everything.”
“I understand,” I said, a lump forming in my throat.
This was no small offer.
This was a career sacrifice.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“Information. A starting point.”
I quickly explained about Agnes Pritchard, the missing dossier, and the city archives.
“A locked drawer in an old city office, now in a warehouse,” Michael repeated, processing the information.
“That’s a needle in a haystack, even with a specific location.”
“I know,” I admitted.
“But it’s the only lead I have to direct, physical evidence.”
“It’s risky,” Michael mused.
“Accessing city archives without proper authorization… especially given your restraining order.”
“I can’t go near it,” I confirmed.
“But you can. You have campaign access. You could get into that warehouse.”
He was silent for a moment, weighing his options.
“He’s been making a lot of noise about budget cuts for the city archives lately,” Michael said, almost to himself.
“Distracting rhetoric, designed to keep people away, make it seem unglamorous.”
“A perfect cover,” I finished.
“You could use that. Claim you’re ‘auditing’ the archives for ‘efficiency improvements’ for the campaign.”
“It might work,” he said, a flicker of something like grim determination in his voice.
“It will be dangerous. If I’m caught…”
“I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I had any other choice, Michael,” I said, my voice soft but earnest.
“My children… they deserve the truth. And you’re the only one who can help me get it.”
He didn’t reply immediately.
I could almost hear the gears turning in his mind, the ethical dilemma playing out.
“Give me a few days,” he finally said.
“I need to plan this carefully. And I need to be sure Elias won’t suspect anything.”
“Thank you, Michael,” I said, a rush of relief washing over me.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned.
“This is just the beginning. Elias has deep pockets and even deeper connections. He’s not going to make this easy.”
“I know,” I replied.
“But now, at least, I have a fighting chance.”
I hung up, my hand shaking.
My ethical dilemma was momentary.
Was it right to ask someone to risk so much for me?
Yes.
Because the stakes were higher than just one man’s career.
They were about justice, about truth, about the lives and identities of my five children.
I felt a surge of renewed hope, a fire rekindled within me.
Michael Chen, a man trapped in Elias’s orbit, had chosen conscience over career.
It was a powerful testament to the truth’s insidious ability to chip away at even the most carefully constructed deceptions.
But the city archives were a daunting target.
A vast, dusty repository of forgotten records.
And even if Michael found the dossier, what then?
Elias had already discredited any records from that time.
We needed more.
We needed something irrefutable, something that tied Elias directly to the cover-up, beyond a city clerk’s testimony.
I had to prepare for the possibility that the dossier might not be enough.
My mind shifted to Elias’s finances.
Campaign finances.
That was Michael’s domain.
Elias was ambitious, but also greedy.
He would have cut corners, funneled money, used shell corporations.
That was always a weakness for men like him.
If Michael was risking his career, then we needed to make this count.
We needed to hit Elias where it hurt the most: his reputation and his finances.
And perhaps, just perhaps, his deceased father, Arthur, might have a ghost of a secret hidden in his past.
Arthur Carson, the respected community leader, had been a careful man.
He valued his name, his legacy.
He would have kept records, however cryptic.
A new line of inquiry opened in my mind, a secondary target if the archives proved empty or inconclusive.
I had always known Elias was manipulative, but to witness his deliberate, calculated cruelty, trying to deny my children’s education, to destroy my livelihood—it was a stark reminder of the monster I had married.
And now, with Michael Chen on our side, the game had changed.
He was inside Elias’s inner circle, a Trojan horse.
The risk was immense, but so was the potential reward.
I settled back at my laptop, pulling up more public records, this time focusing on Elias’s campaign contributions, his known expenditures, and any public financial disclosures from his father.
If Elias had bribed Agnes, that money had to come from somewhere.
And money, unlike medical records, was much harder to truly erase.
There would be a paper trail, however faint.
I just needed Michael to help me find it.
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