Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
“I will call Margret from the car,” I said. “Tell her to have the real documents ready, but to keep the fraud injunction in her desk drawer until they both arrive.”
“I’ll be there,” James said, his pen resuming its rhythmic tap against the notepad. “I’ll have the complete file.”
I walked out of the office and down the creaking wooden stairs to the street. The rain had intensified, the heavy drops drumming against the roof of my Volvo as I climbed into the driver’s seat. I started the engine and sat for a moment, watching the headlights of the passing trucks cut through the dark.
By five o’clock, the afternoon light had completely vanished, replaced by the yellow glow of the streetlamps along the Queen Anne hillside. I pulled into the driveway of our craftsman home, the tires crunching over the wet cedar needles that had fallen from the old trees in the yard.
The porch light was off, but I could see the blue light of Richard’s laptop screen reflecting against the living room window. I let myself in through the side door, taking off my boots in the mudroom with as little noise as possible.
