With Just $43 Left, I Took a Chance at the Bank

My name is Elena Ward, and if someone had told me that my entire existence would come crashing down in a single afternoon, I would have laughed it off.

For the twelve years that I was married to Marcus Langford, a reportedly respected real estate developer, I resided in Clearwater Bay, in a bright home that I had painstakingly adorned over the course of our marriage. However, the only people who admired him were those who were unaware of who he actually was.

Three days before my life began to fall apart, Marcus stood in the doorway with his arms crossed as Sabrina, the woman who had replaced me, walked through my living room as if she were examining property that she already owned. Sabrina was his business partner and lover.

Marcus responded in a resolute manner, “Elena, you have to leave.” There was a conclusion reached by the attorneys. The home is registered in my name. As well as the accounts. That’s the end of it.”

It was then that I informed him that I had no other option, that I had sacrificed my profession in order to provide for him, and that I had been by his side for more than a decade.
He did little more than shrug.

“Your life was full of ease when you were with me. You should now proceed.

In the time that I was leaving with one luggage and forty-seven bucks, he did not even bother to look at me.

In the middle of the night, I found myself staying in a dilapidated motel close to the downtown area, where the thin walls carried the conflicts of strangers. Most of my friends had moved away because of Marcus’s domineering demeanor, and I did not have any family members living in the area.

While I was searching through old items to see what I could sell, I came across an old ATM card that belonged to my father. It was hidden inside a torn jacket. He has been gone for seventeen years now, Henry Ward. The memory of him handing it to me before he went away came to me.

“You should save this for the time when you really have nothing left.”

I had always imagined that it contained a few dollars at most. However, because of your desperation, you are willing to do anything.

Seaside Trust Bank was the first place I went to the following morning. After swiping the card, the teller, who was an older guy named Mr. Dalton, became very still. His complexion became drab. It appeared as though he had just witnessed something that was impossible to believe.

He spoke in a low voice, “Ms. Ward,” and said, “I need you to come with me.” Instantaneously.”

Those in charge of security moved in closer. People were staring at each other.
My hands were shaking.
“What is the matter? What is written on that card?

He drew more near. “Ma’am:… The course of your life is going to shift.”

Within the glass office that he brought me to, he rotated the monitor so that it was facing me.

The digits were tallied twice by me.

The amount of $51,000,000.00

My breath was completely gone. “What—how—is that even possible?”

Mr. Dalton then selected the option to open a file.

“A tiny tract of land close to the Clearwater Bay harbor was passed down to your father as an inheritance. Decades later, a real estate development corporation constructed the Oceancrest District in the vicinity of it.

According to the historical records, he successfully negotiated an unusual arrangement: five percent of the project’s lifetime income would be transferred into this trust in your name.

I stood there, speechless. For his whole life, my father had been employed in the role of a maintenance supervisor. He had never taken extended trips, lived a simple life, and never even hinted at this reality.

It was Dalton who stated that “He never touched the money.” “There was a lock on the trust. It could only be accessed by you. It is not a mate. Without the power of attorney.”

After that, he opened a different file.

Someone made an attempt to gain access to the trust using your identify more than three months ago. “They did not pass the verification.”

It was as if the name had just left my mouth.
The name “Marcus.”

The abruptness of his coldness, the investigator he had hired, and the hasty divorce were all things that came together. He desired to have authority over the money that he had a hunch existed.

Andrew Bishop, an attorney who specialized in trusts, was the person I met with earlier. His expression became more stern when he had finished perusing the materials.

This was not only a marriage that was unhealthy. Your former spouse has been conspiring to conceal serious wrongdoing.

In addition to public data and inspection logs, we also looked into property sales. It turned out that Marcus had been taking shortcuts for years, selling properties that were hazardous, fabricating reports, and defrauding families. The truth was even more shocking than I had expected.

By sending the evidence, we remained anonymous.

Over the course of the following week, news stations broadcast footage of Marcus and Sabrina being questioned by federal authorities. He had his business investigated. Licenses have been revoked. The clients are irate.

However, this was not my achievement. Not at this time.

I finally took a deep breath after the trust was established. The vast money, however, did not elicit feelings of thrill or vengeance in me; rather, I was overcome with a profound sense of duty. Because he wanted me to have a future, my father had lived a simple life.

While I was walking along the waterfront that he used to take me to when I was a youngster, I let the answer to slowly sink in: He would want me to assist ladies who are similar to myself.

Women were left behind. When women went, they had nothing.

So I decided to launch Rise Again, a support organization for women who are trying to start over after going through a divorce that was financially harsh. Short-term housing, legal advice, job training, counseling, and community support were all services that we provided.

We were able to assist fourteen women and five families within the span of one month. A void that I was unaware existed within me was filled by the experience of watching them rebuild.

His entire universe came crashing down. Objects are frozen. Investors have left. A seizure was initiated. As soon as things grew inconvenient, Sabrina departed the place.

During the night, my phone rang from a number that I had blocked.

“Elena… please,” he pleaded with her. “I am completely devoid of anything. There is no one. Please lend me a hand.

There was a time when I would have been terrified by his voice. This simply served to remind me of the person I used to be.

“Marcus,” I said in a composed manner, “I started from scratch and rebuilt my life because you abandoned me with nothing.” Currently, it is your turn. “I hope you make a better decision.”

He hung up without providing a response.

My father’s grave was visited by me many weeks later. I told him everything, including the ladies I assisted, the betrayal, the justice, and the rebuilding.

The words “You didn’t leave me money” were hushed by me. “You provided me with freedom… and a purpose.”

A pleasant breeze caused the branches to rustle. I stood up, experiencing a sense of lightness.

I had made it through.

I was on my feet.

And now I was assisting other people in rising as well.

Sometimes the opportunity to make a difference in the life of another person is the most valuable legacy.