My Husband Flaunted His Mistress at the Gala — By Sunrise He Lost His Entire Empire
Part 1
The flashes of the paparazzi cameras were blinding against the humid evening air.
To the rest of the world, the entrance to the hotel was a gateway to heaven.
To me, it felt more like the intake processing of a high-security prison.
I adjusted the strap of my emerald silk gown.
My fingers brushed against the cool metal of the wedding band I had worn for seven years.
Beside me, Craig was beaming.
He possessed the kind of aggressive handsomeness that made people nervous and eager to please all at once.
His tuxedo was bespoke.
He wore it with the arrogance of a man who knew he could buy the entire building we were walking into.
He hissed at me through his teeth to smile.
His lips were stretched into a media-ready grin.
He waved at a photographer from the local paper.
He told me I looked like I was attending a funeral.
He demanded I try to look like the wife of a man whose stock just tripled.
I forced the corners of my mouth up.
I told him I was just tired.
The preparation for tonight took all day.
He muttered for me to wake up.
His hand tightened painfully on my lower back, just out of sight of the cameras.
He reminded me that Megan was inside.
He needed me to be civil.
He warned me not to embarrass him like I did at the fundraiser last month.
My stomach churned at the name.
Megan was his head of public relations.
She was also the woman who had been wearing my favorite diamond earrings in a breathless social media story just two days ago.
Adjusting his expensive cufflinks, Craig didn’t even bother looking at my face while speaking.
He casually straightened my emerald necklace like I was nothing more than a slightly crooked painting.
Brushing a speck of lint off my shoulder, he treated me less like a partner and more like a quiet accessory.
He told me to stand straight and look pretty, making it perfectly clear I was just an ornament meant for display.
He didn’t know about the burner phone taped beneath the vanity in the guest bathroom.
He didn’t know about the meetings with the forensic accountant in a diner across the river.
He certainly didn’t know about Tyler, the private investigator I had hired.
Tyler had documented every hotel room, every dinner receipt, and every text message Craig had sent to Megan for the last eighteen months.
I spoke softly.
I promised I would be on my best behavior.
My voice was steady.
It betrayed nothing of the icy resolve settling in my chest.
We ascended the stairs.
The red carpet swallowed our footsteps.
Inside the ballroom was a kaleidoscope of excess.
Chandeliers the size of small cars dripped crystals from the ceiling.
The air smelled of expensive perfume, truffle oil, and old money.
Craig immediately dropped my arm as soon as we cleared the press line.
He told me to get a drink and mingle with the wives.
He claimed he needed to talk to Senator Dan about the merger.
He didn’t wait for a response.
He smoothed his lapels and strode toward the bar.
A blonde woman in a daring red dress was already holding court there.
Megan was laughing loudly with a glass of champagne in her hand.
Craig didn’t go to her directly.
The look they exchanged was electric.
It was a shared secret in a room full of people.
I stood alone near a pillar watching them.
A waiter passed by with a tray of appetizers.
I declined.
I needed a clear head.
I checked the watch on my wrist.
It was exactly eight fifteen in the evening.
The timeline was tight.
The private jet Craig kept on standby was scheduled for maintenance at midnight.
I had overridden the schedule using the admin codes he thought I had forgotten years ago.
I told Brian to enjoy the evening.
I placed my glass on a passing tray.
I announced I was going to powder my nose.
Brian asked if I was all right, sensing a shift in my demeanor.
I told him I was better than I had been in years.
I walked away without looking back at my husband.
I ignored the woman trying to steal my life.
I looked only at the exit signs glowing green in the distance.
The restroom was more opulent than most apartments.
I entered a stall and locked the door.
I reached into my clutch and pulled out a small encrypted drive.
I sat on the closed lid of the toilet and closed my eyes for a second.
I breathed in the scent of lavender potpourri.
I opened my eyes.
Slipping the massive solitaire off my finger, I left the ring on the toilet paper dispenser.
The diamond was worth more than my parents’ entire house.
Next came the tracking phone Craig had bought for my supposed safety.
Disabling the GPS through the settings menu felt incredibly satisfying before performing a full factory reset.
Dropping the dead device into my purse seemed like a better idea than leaving it here.
Dumping it in a random subway trash can would be a far stronger statement.
Pushing the heavy door open, I finally stepped out of the stall.
The attendant smiled at me and asked if everything was all right.
I told her everything was perfect.
I asked her to do me a favor.
I handed her a crisp bill.
I instructed her to tell my husband I went to the terrace to get some fresh air if he asked.
She agreed immediately.
I didn’t go to the terrace.
I walked out of the restroom and took a sharp left down the service corridor I had mapped out weeks ago.
I exited through the kitchen.
The heat of the ovens and the shouting of the chefs was a stark contrast to the cool ballroom.
No one noticed the woman in the green dress slipping out the delivery bay door.
The night air in the alleyway was heavy.
It smelled of wet pavement.
A nondescript sedan was waiting at the curb with the engine idling.
The window rolled down.
Heather looked out at me.
She was the paralegal from the firm I had hired secretly.
She asked if I had the package.
I patted my clutch where the encrypted drive lay.
I confirmed I had the ledger, the emails, and the access keys to the offshore accounts.
She told me to get in.
We had forty minutes before the shift change at the airfield.
As the car pulled away, I allowed myself one look back at the hotel.
Inside that ballroom, the gala was in full swing.
At nine o’clock, Craig was scheduled to give a speech announcing the launch of the new interface.
He didn’t know that the interface didn’t exist without the decryption key I currently held in my purse.
He didn’t know that at 9:15 p.m., my scheduled email would finally hit the inboxes of the SEC and the Wall Street Journal.
