Redstone Construction CEO Learns About Blue Envelope in Hospital Recovery Room
“She won’t,” Vance said. “Not if you keep the business side of it looking normal.”
I looked back at the table, where the old marriage certificate sat beside the surveillance photos. The woman I had lived with for twenty-one years, the mother of my daughter, had built our entire life on the template of a Scottsdale developer’s estate.
“She never loved the house in Cherry Creek,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“She loved the equity,” Brandon said.
I picked up the final photo from the stack, the one taken under the amber streetlights near the entrance of the penthouse parking garage. It was a close-up, captured with a telephoto lens through the side window of Mercer’s dark sedan.
The surveillance photo of my wife kissing the surgeon who held my life in his hands.
I slipped the glossy print back into the manila folder and slid the brass clasp through the paper flap. The drive back to Cherry Creek took forty-five minutes in the late afternoon traffic, the heater in my truck humming against the December chill.
