Chapter 5 - The Public Mask Falls
At 1:00 PM, I looked out my corner office window at the headquarters of Chesapeake Logistics.
Down in the executive parking space, Grant was stepping out of the sleek black Mercedes sedan he had driven for two years. He looked terrible. His suit was wrinkled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he kept looking around as if he expected police officers to jump out from behind the bushes.
He walked into the lobby and handed the keys to the reception desk without saying a word. But as he turned to leave, he saw me coming down the glass staircase into the main lobby.
"Claire!" he shouted, ignoring the receptionist and several corporate officers who were walking toward the conference room. "Claire, stop! We need to talk like adults!"
The lobby fell quiet. Several employees slowed their pace, pretending to check their tablets while listening intently.
"You've returned the vehicle," I said, stopping ten feet away. "Thank you. The security guard will escort you to the gate."
"You're destroying my reputation!" Grant yelled, his face turning red. "You called my client, Harrison Dynamics, didn't you? They canceled their contract with my firm this morning!"
"I didn't call anyone, Grant," I said calmly, keeping my posture straight and my hands folded in front of me. "Harrison Dynamics canceled their contract because their chief auditor happens to be a close friend of mine who saw your mistress posting photos of your weekend trip to St. Thomas on Instagram—trips you billed to Harrison Dynamics as 'business expenses.'"
A few whispers broke out among the staff near the elevator.
Grant’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"You did this to yourself," I continued, lowering my voice so only he could hear. "You thought you could live a double life, use my money to fund your affair, and then humiliate me in front of your family to make yourself feel like a big man. You failed, Grant. At every level."
"Kelsey loves me!" he hissed, leaning in, his voice cracking with desperate rage. "She doesn't care about the money!"
"Then test that theory," I replied smoothly. "Because by five o'clock today, you won't have a penny left to your name. Let's see how long her love lasts when you're sleeping on your mother's sofa in a two-bedroom apartment."
Grant took a step forward, his fist clenching, but before he could make a move, two large security guards stepped between us, their hands resting firmly on their belts.
May you like
"Mr. Miller," the head of security said sternly. "It's time for you to leave the premises."
Grant looked at the guards, then at the staff watching him from the balconies above, and finally at me. The realization that he had lost everything—his status, his comfort, his pride—finally hit him. He turned and stumbled through the revolving glass doors into the afternoon heat, looking smaller than I had ever seen him.
