Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
Donald Vance, Richard’s lawyer, stepped forward from the window where he had been watching the rain. He did not look at Richard. Instead, he reached down and pulled the blue folder toward his side of the table, his fingers tracing the edge of the cardboard.
Donald flipped through the bank records, his thumb making a dry, rhythmic click against the paper. He stopped on the page showing the forty-one thousand dollars in wire transfers to Monica’s account.
“Richard,” Donald said, his voice flat. “We need to step into the hallway.”
Richard did not move for several seconds. He stared at Margret, his mouth slightly open, before he finally pushed his leather chair back.
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind them, leaving Monica sitting alone across from me. She touched her collarbone, her eyes darting to the locked drawer where Margret kept the leather-bound estate folder.
“Laura,” Monica said, her voice carrying that soft, trailing lilt. “You have to know I did not want any of this to hurt you.”
I turned my gold wedding band around my finger, keeping my eyes on the polished wood between us. I did not give her an answer.
