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

The Burner Email

I drove home in a daze, my mind cycling through possibilities. I needed to become enough of a problem that Marcato had to deal with me directly. That meant interfering with Robert’s plans, refusing to cooperate, making noise.

It meant declaring war on the very people my husband was desperately trying to appease. Robert was home when I arrived, pacing in the living room. He looked up as I entered, and I saw something new in his eyes—desperation.

He asked: “Where were you?” I replied: “Having lunch with Karen.” He questioned: “Why?”

I wondered: my heart hammered. Did he know? Had someone seen me with James?

Robert sat heavily on the couch, his face haggard. “Margot, we need to talk. I’ve made some decisions about our future, about the company.” I asked: “What kind of decisions?”

He answered: “I’m selling it. The whole thing. We’re retiring.” I forced my expression to remain neutral. “After everything we’ve built? Just like that?”

He replied: “It’s time, Margot. We’re in our 70s. We should be enjoying life, not working 70-hour weeks.” I countered: “We don’t work 70-hour weeks. We have excellent managers. The company practically runs itself.”

His voice hardened: “I’ve made up my mind. The sale is happening. I need you to sign the papers.” I asked: “And if I refuse?”

Robert’s jaw clenched. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just trust me, please.” I argued: “Trust you, Robert? You’ve been lying to me for weeks, sneaking around, making plans, deciding our entire future without consulting me. Now you want trust?”

He said: “You don’t understand what’s at stake.” I demanded: “Then explain it to me. Tell me the truth.”

He stood, his voice rising: “The truth is that I’m trying to protect you! The truth is that there are dangerous people who want what we have, and I’m trying to keep us both safe! The truth is that I need you to, just once, just this once, not fight me on everything and do what I’m asking!”

Meeting the Monster

The outburst shocked us both. In 43 years, Robert had never yelled at me like that. I said quietly: “I’m not signing anything. Until you tell me everything. Who’s threatening us? What do they want? What are you so afraid of?”

Robert’s face went pale. “How did you—” I interrupted: “I’m not stupid, Robert. I know something’s wrong. I know you’re scared. But running to Canada, selling our company for half its value, making decisions without me—that’s not protection, that’s panic.”

He replied: “You need to stay out of this.” I said: “It’s my company, too. My life, too. I have every right to be involved.”

Robert’s voice was flat, final: “No. You don’t. Not this time. I’m handling it.” He walked out of the room, leaving me standing alone in the living room where we’d celebrated 43 New Years together.

That night, I sent an email from a burner account I’d created that afternoon. The recipient was Vincent Marcato, whose contact information I’d found in Robert’s files. The message was simple: “Mr. Marcato, my husband has told me about your offer for our company. I am not interested in selling, and I will not sign any paperwork. If you wish to discuss this matter, you may contact me directly. Margot Wittmann.”

I included my cell phone number and hit send before I could reconsider. Within the hour, my phone rang. Unknown number.

I answered. A smooth male voice said: “Mrs. Wittmann. I think it’s time we met.”

Vincent Marcato suggested we meet at a restaurant downtown. “Neutral territory,” he called it. Public enough to seem safe, private enough to talk freely.

I agreed to meet him the following afternoon at 3:00, giving myself time to prepare. That night, Robert didn’t come to bed at all. I heard him in his study until dawn—the sound of drawers opening and closing, papers rustling, his voice occasionally rising in frustrated phone conversations I couldn’t quite hear.