Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
“It is a record of marital fraud, Richard,” Margret said, her voice cold. “And it is only the first page.”
James opened the navy blue folder and slid three large glossy photographs across the table.
The first photograph showed Richard and Monica standing outside the Bellevue fertility clinic on a Tuesday morning in October, Richard’s hand resting flat against the small of her back.
The second photograph was a close-up of Richard carrying a blue baby blanket, the very one I had found in the back of Monica’s closet, as they walked toward his car.
Monica looked down at the photographs, her face turning pale as she touched her collarbone again. “Laura, please. It is not what it looks like.”
“Which part, Monica?” I asked, looking her directly in the eyes. “The part where you lied to me for seven months, or the part where you helped my husband plan to empty my father’s estate?”
Richard reached for the photographs, but James placed his hand flat over them, stopping him.
“Let us talk about the money,” James said in his gravelly monotone, tapping his pen rhythmically against his notepad. “Specifically, the forty-one thousand dollars transferred from the joint account over the last ninety days.”
