Chapter 2 - The Man At Table Four
At Table Four, an older man with silver-streaked hair and an expensive gray silk tie stiffened in his seat. It was Julian Vance, the senior partner at Vance & Sterling Real Estate—Eric’s primary corporate sponsor and the very man who had funded Eric’s boutique development firm three years ago. Beside Julian sat his wife of thirty-two years, Margaret Vance, clad in emerald satin and pearls.
Julian’s face went from mild embarrassment to absolute terror. He knocked his bread plate as he scrambled to his feet, trying to smooth his jacket.
"Maya, please," Julian stammered, his voice carrying just enough volume to reach the first two rows of tables. "I don't know what kind of game this is, but my wife and I came here tonight to celebrate your decade of marriage as family friends. This is completely out of line."
"Is it out of line, Julian?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle, almost conversational. "Because according to the registration log at the St. Regis in Charlotte on the weekend of April fourteenth, you checked into the penthouse suite under your corporate card. And according to the elevator security feed, my sister Natalie walked into that suite at eleven-thirty on Friday night and didn't leave until Sunday morning at dawn."
Margaret Vance turned her head toward her husband with the slow, deadly precision of a naval turret. Her hand, loaded with heavy diamond bands, withdrew from Julian’s forearm as if his flesh were scorched iron.
"Julian?" Margaret asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "You told me you were at the regional golf retreat in Pinehurst that weekend."
Julian couldn't answer. His mouth opened and closed without producing a sound.
Natalie was shaking visibly now, her hands clutched over her stomach as if she could physically shield herself from the room. "You've been tracking me? You psycho! You've been spying on me?"
"I was investigating my husband," I said, holding her frantic gaze. "I hired Grant to document Eric's infidelity so I could execute the infidelity clause in our prenuptial agreement. But Grant is a very thorough man. When he followed Eric to your apartment in Midtown, he noticed that Eric wasn't the only man parking his luxury vehicle in your assigned spot. Two days a week, Eric would leave around lunch. And around seven in the evening, Julian's black Mercedes would take his place."
Laughter erupted from the far side of the room—a short, bitter bark from one of Eric's former business associates who had lost a promotion to Eric's brown-nosing two years earlier.
"You played them both, didn't you, Nat?" I asked, tilting my head. "You knew Eric didn't have enough liquid capital to leave me. Eric lives on my executive salary and the trust fund my grandfather set aside for my business. You knew if he divorced me, he walked away with forty thousand dollars and a leased BMW. So you needed a bigger fish. You wanted Julian to set you up in a townhouse in Buckhead, but Julian was too terrified of Margaret's family lawyers to leave his wife. So when you found out you were pregnant, you decided to stage a bidding war."
"That's a lie!" Natalie screamed, lunging toward me.
Before she could lay a finger on my silk sleeve, Grant stepped between us with the effortless bulk of a former state trooper. He didn't touch her; he simply occupied the space like a brick wall. Natalie stumbled back, her heel catching on the carpet hem.
"The DNA panel is in this folder, Natalie," I continued, tapping the red cardstock against the lectern. "Julian's toothbrush from that hotel suite provided a ninety-nine-point-eight percent paternal match with the fetal cell sample you submitted to the private boutique clinic in Dunwoody last Tuesday. You were going to use Eric tonight to force my hand, and then you were going to blackmail Julian tomorrow morning to pay your rent for the next eighteen years."
Margaret Vance stood up from Table Four. She looked down at her sweating, stuttering husband of three decades, picked up her vintage handbag, and dropped her wedding band into his water glass with a sharp, hollow clink.
May you like
"My brothers will contact your office in the morning, Julian," Margaret said without a trace of tears. "Have your things out of our house by noon."
She turned on her heel and walked out through the double doors, leaving Julian Vance alone, ruined, and staring into his drink.
