The Revenge of Anthony Riggs

0003: An Act of Betrayal

'LATER ON IN THE DAY'

As Antony’s fingers continued to dance across the keyboard, the rhythmic tapping echoed in the otherwise silent office. The screen in front of him was filled with endless spreadsheets and documents that seemed to blur together. He glanced at his wristwatch, and his eyes widened in disbelief. "Fuck, 6:43 p.m. already?" he muttered to himself. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. "And I'm not even done with half of what I'm supposed to do this week, and it's Thursday already."

With a deep, weary sigh, he shook his head, resigning himself to the inevitable. There was no way he'd be able to finish everything on time without sacrificing his weekend. "I'll have to come in on Saturday and Sunday if I'm ever going to finish collating these files before the Monday deadline," he mumbled, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

He began wrapping up his work, shutting down his computer and tidying up his desk. As he stood and slung his small briefcase over his left shoulder, the emptiness of the office struck him. He was the last one left, as had become the norm in recent months. The eerie silence and deserted desks only deepened the loneliness that gnawed at him. Officially, work hours ended at 4 p.m., but Anthony had long since abandoned any hope of leaving on time. His employer's demands were relentless, and he felt overused, a cog in a machine that didn't care if it wore him down to nothing.

But he couldn't complain. After losing his previous job, he'd been lucky to land this one, thanks to his wife's influence. That bitter fact only made the situation worse. He felt indebted, trapped in a position he couldn't afford to lose, no matter how much it drained him.

Exiting his office floor, Anthony rode the elevator down to the ground level, his exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders. He passed through the security checkpoint, barely acknowledging the guard who waved him through, and pushed through the massive revolving glass doors into the cool evening air.

When he reached his car, parked in its usual spot, he noticed something that made his stomach drop. Right beneath the driver’s side door handle was a bold, ugly scratch, and carved into the paint were the words: "LOSER!!!"

Anger and sadness flared within him as he traced the letters with his fingertips. Who could have done this? He wondered. The thought of having to spend money to fix it, money he could hardly afford to waste, only made him feel worse. A few names crossed his mind— Edward, Joan, Alkins. His immediate boss, Alkins, had always mistreated him for no apparent reason, and Edward, with his constant pranks, seemed like a likely candidate. But what could their motive be? Was it just spite, or was there something deeper fueling their hatred?

Anthony's thoughts spiraled as he opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, his mind racing with questions that had no answers. As he drove through the darkening streets of New York, the city's lights casting reflections across his windshield, the image of the scratch and the cruel word beneath it lingered in his mind.

When he finally pulled into the driveway of his home, he didn’t immediately get out of the car. Instead, he sat there, staring blankly at the house that no longer felt like home. His marriage was crumbling, his job was a nightmare, and now even his car— a small piece of stability in his chaotic life— had been violated. He felt lost, overwhelmed by everything that had gone wrong.

With a heavy sigh, he rested his head against the steering wheel, wondering how much longer he could keep holding everything together. The silence of the car was suffocating, and the realization that he didn’t even want to go inside hit him harder than he expected. Home was no longer homely, and the thought of stepping through that front door felt more daunting than the work waiting for him at the office.

After a few long moments, he finally lifted his head and exhaled deeply. There was no avoiding it. He had to go inside, face whatever awaited him in the cold walls of his house, and somehow muster the strength to do it all over again tomorrow.

Stepping into the living room, Anthony immediately slipped off his black shoes by the green foot mat at the entrance. The room was as empty as always, with the usual arrangement of comfy leather couches, the flat LG plasma TV mounted on the wall, and the modern black tempered glass table at the center, adorned with a beautiful vase of blooming flowers.

Yet tonight, something was different. The TV, usually off when he arrived, was on, playing something unfamiliar. There was also a strange cologne scent lingering in the air, one that Anthony couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t Veronica's usual fragrance, which only deepened his unease. The scent was distinctly masculine. He wondered, did Veronica invite someone over? The thought gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside for the moment.

Still wearing his tie and office clothes, Anthony headed straight to the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten all day, and hunger gnawed at his stomach. He hoped to find leftovers— anything that could ease the ache of hunger, but when he opened the Samsung side-by-side French door refrigerator, the cool air hit his face, and his hope dwindled. No leftovers, just chilled water, milk, and a few of Veronica's snacks, which she never shared.

Hesitating for a moment, knowing how protective Veronica was of her snacks, Anthony eventually gave in to his hunger. He grabbed one, unwrapped it, and popped a cheese-flavored bite into his mouth. With the snack in hand, he made his way upstairs to the master bedroom, intending to change out of his work clothes before returning to the kitchen to make a proper meal.

But as he opened the bedroom door, what he saw stopped him cold. His heart plummeted into his stomach, and the snack slipped from his fingers, scattering across the floor. There, in their matrimonial bed, lay Veronica... with his boss, Alkins.

The sight hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of him. His mind raced to process what he was seeing, but the image of his wife tangled up with someone else burned itself into his brain. The room, the world around him, seemed to collapse into a void of disbelief and betrayal. How long had this been going on? Why had she done him this dirty? Even though they had been dealing with issues in their marriage, he never, in a million years, thought Veronica would be sleeping with another man— let alone his boss— in their matrimonial bed.

As all these questions flooded his mind, all he could do was stand there, frozen in shock, unable to tear his eyes away from the betrayal unfolding in front of him.