At exactly eight thirty in the evening, I walked to the center of the living room and tapped my champagne glass with a silver fork. The clear sound cut through the ambient chatter.
The room quieted down immediately, fifty faces turning toward me with expectant smiles.
“Everyone, if I could have your attention for just a moment,” I announced, my voice projecting clearly through the room.
I gestured to the massive smart TV mounted on the wall above the fireplace. I had secretly wired my encrypted laptop directly to the display earlier that afternoon.
“To celebrate Gregory entering a new decade,” I continued, smiling sweetly at my husband, “I have put together a very special presentation to show everyone exactly who Gregory really is, and what he has been so busy building over the last few months.”
Gregory beamed. He swelled with pride, absolutely convinced I was about to play a slideshow of our wedding photos and clips of Toby. He walked over, wrapping a heavy arm around my waist, and kissed my temple.
“You are the best, babe,” Gregory whispered loudly enough for his boss to hear. “I do not deserve you.”
“You really do not,” I replied softly.
I smoothly stepped away from his touch, creating physical distance between us, and picked up the small black remote control resting on the mantelpiece.
I looked at his parents, and then I looked at the senior partners of his firm. I pressed play.
The massive screen flickered to life. The picture was startlingly clear.
It was timestamped security video footage of the interior of our master bedroom.
The crowd let out a confused murmur as they watched Gregory lead Chloe into the frame. The murmur instantly transformed into a horrified gasp as the guests watched Chloe casually strip off her dress, put on my silk robe, and lie down on our bed with Gregory.
“What is this?” Gregory shrieked, the color completely draining from his face.
His eyes bugged out in sheer terror. He lunged frantically toward the television, his scotch glass slipping from his hand and shattering against the hardwood floor.
“Turn it off! Claire, turn it off right now!” he roared, grabbing at the cables behind the screen.
Before he could pull the plug, the video cut to the zoomed in footage of the home office.
Gregory’s own voice boomed through the speakers, echoing off the walls of the silent living room.
“Yes, David, it is Gregory. Yes, my wife’s signature is on the second mortgage authorization forms. Wire the entire one hundred and fifty thousand dollar equity pull directly into the external business account under C-Lane Ventures.”
Gregory froze. His hands dropped to his sides as complete terror locked his muscles in place beneath the screen.
His mother burst into loud, devastated tears, burying her face in her hands. His boss, the senior partner of the accounting firm, stared at Gregory with absolute disgust after witnessing his employee confess to fraud on tape.
I stood in the center of the room, my voice carrying total calm.
