Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
He stood up, picked up his silver pen, and slid it back into his breast pocket with a soft click.
“I will let Henderson know we need a draft of those papers by tomorrow afternoon,” he said.
He walked out of the kitchen, his steps heavy on the hardwood stairs as he went up to his office, leaving me alone in the dim light of the stove.
I sat there while my own losses were turned into a leash to hold me down.
The brass plaque on Margret Chen’s office door was cold when I pushed it open at nine the next morning.
Margret sat behind her mahogany desk, her fingers tapping the edge of a thick, leather-bound estate folder.
She looked older in the grey morning light, her sharp eyes scanning my face before she reached for a silk cloth and began to polish her reading glasses.
“You look like you have not slept since Tuesday, Laura,” Margret said, her voice carrying its usual legal precision.
“I haven’t,” I said, placing my heavy leather handbag on the floor.
Margret set her glasses down, adjusted her green desk lamp, and opened the leather-bound estate folder.
