“Don’t Make Any Plans for January,” My Husband Told Me at New Year’s Dinner – When Midnight Struck, I Understood Why

Rebuilding the Broken Pieces

I did know. I’d calculated every risk, weighed every consequence. I’d chosen this path with open eyes, but knowing the cost and paying it were two different things.

Two days later, I received a call from an unknown number. Against my better judgment, I answered. Vincent Marcato’s smooth voice filled my ear: “Congratulations. You’re a very clever woman.”

I said: “Mr. Marcato, I assume you’ve heard about the FBI investigation.” He replied: “I have. Which is why I’m calling to inform you that North Point Development Group is withdrawing its offer for your properties. We’ve decided to pursue alternative acquisition strategies.”

I said: “You mean you’re afraid of federal scrutiny.” He replied: “I mean the deal has become more complicated than it’s worth. You’ve made quite a mess, Mrs. Wittmann. Involving the courts, the FBI, making everything public. That’s not how business is done.”

I countered: “Extortion isn’t how business is done, either.” A pause, then: “I want you to understand something. This isn’t over because you won. It’s over because continuing would cost me more than it’s worth. But there are other projects, other opportunities, and memories in this business are very long.”

I asked: “Is that a threat?” He replied: “It’s a fact. You embarrassed powerful people, made them look weak. That’s not something they’ll forget.”

I said: “Then let me give you a fact, Mr. Marcato. Everything you’ve said to me, every threat you’ve made, every implication of violence—it’s all been recorded and documented.”

I added: “If anything happens to me, to my husband, to anyone in my family, those recordings go public—to the FBI, to the media, to every law enforcement agency I can reach. You’ll spend the rest of your life in court, if you’re not in prison.”

Silence on the other end, then surprisingly, a low chuckle. “You really are impressive. Your husband should have consulted you from the beginning. Things might have gone very differently.”

I replied: “They might have, but they didn’t.” He said: “No, they didn’t. Goodbye, Mrs. Wittmann. For your sake, I hope we never speak again.”

The Family Fallout

The line went dead. I sat holding the phone, my hands shaking with delayed reaction. It was over.

Marcato was backing off. The FBI was investigating. Our company was safe, but the victory felt hollow.

That evening, Michael and Joyce came to the house. Robert let them in without consulting me, and suddenly we were all in the living room—the four of us together for what might be the last time as a family.

Joyce’s eyes were red from crying; Michael looked haggard, older than his 45 years. Michael began: “We need to talk. All of us. About what happens now.”

Robert said heavily: “What happens now is that we deal with the consequences of everyone’s choices. Mine included.” Joyce turned to me, her voice trembling: “Mom, I didn’t know about Derek. About what he’d done. I swear, I didn’t know.”

I asked: “Didn’t you? You knew he worked for Hastings, Mercer, and Cole. You knew they represented North Point. You never thought to ask if there was a connection?”

She replied: “I trusted him. I thought—I thought he loved me. That we were building a life together. I didn’t know he was using me, using our family.”

I said quietly: “But you were willing to have me declared incompetent. You were willing to lie in court about my mental state to take control of my assets. That wasn’t Derek’s doing; that was yours.”

Michael protested: “We thought we were protecting you! Dad was acting strange, you were acting strange, everything was falling apart. We thought if we could just take control temporarily, we could sort everything out.”

I corrected: “You thought you could take what you believed was rightfully yours without waiting for us to die. You saw an opportunity and you took it.”

Michael said: “That’s not fair.” I replied: “Isn’t it, Michael? You lied on the witness stand. You testified that I called the office three times asking about a meeting I’d already attended. That never happened.”

I added: “Joyce, you told the judge you found me confused and disoriented. That was theater, and you knew it. You both manufactured evidence to support a case that had nothing to do with my well-being and everything to do with your inheritance.”

Reclaiming Trust

Silence fell. Neither of them could meet my eyes. Robert spoke up, his voice raw: “They’re not the only ones who lied, Margot. You deceived all of us. You made me believe I was watching you deteriorate. You used our children’s greed against them. You manipulated everyone in this family to serve your own agenda.”

I said: “My agenda was survival. My agenda was protecting what we built from criminals and opportunists. Yes, I lied. Yes, I manipulated. But I did it because every other option had been taken from me.”

I finished: “You took away my right to know what was happening. They took away my right to control my own assets. I did what I had to do with the weapons I had available.”

Robert said: “And now we’re here. A family that can’t trust each other. Children facing perjury charges. A marriage that might not survive. Was it worth it, Margot? Was saving the company worth all of this?”

The question hung in the air. Was it worth it? I looked at each of them.

Robert, the man I’d loved for 43 years, who’d tried to protect me in the worst possible way. Michael and Joyce, the children I’d raised, who’d become strangers obsessed with inheritance. My family, broken and bleeding from wounds we’d all inflicted on each other.

I admitted: “I don’t know. Ask me again in a year. Ask me when we know if our marriage survives. Ask me after we’ve all had time to process what we’ve done to each other.”

Joyce wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom. For all of it. For not trusting you, for believing you were weak, for trying to take control. I was scared and selfish, and I made terrible choices.”

Michael said quietly: “I’m sorry, too. I convinced myself we were helping, but really, I was just protecting my interests. Our interests. I failed you as a son.”

I said: “I appreciate your apologies. But apologies don’t rebuild trust. That takes time—if it can be rebuilt at all.”

Robert stood. “I think we all need space. Time to think about what we want from this family. If we want to still be a family.”

Michael and Joyce left shortly after, their goodbyes awkward and painful. When the door closed behind them, Robert and I stood in the living room—two people who’d built a life together and nearly lost it all.

Robert said: “I’m sleeping in the guest room again tonight.” I replied: *”I’m not. I can’t.” *

He answered: “I understand.” I asked: “Do you? Because I don’t. I don’t understand how we got here, Robert. How we became people who lie to each other, who keep secrets, who manipulate instead of communicate.”

I explained: “We got here because we stopped being partners and started being protectors. You trying to protect me from the truth; me trying to protect us both from your fear. We forgot how to trust each other.”

He asked, his voice so small, so vulnerable: “Can we get it back? The trust, the partnership?” I answered: *”I don’t know. But I want to try.” *