Chapter 4 - The Grand Plan
Two weeks later, everything converged into a single, explosive Friday evening.
Gregory had informed me earlier that week that he would be working late at the firm, auditing corporate tax files through the weekend, and might not make it home for dinner until late. It was the exact opening I needed.
I didn't stay home. Instead, I executed phase one of my plan. I contacted my attorney, filed formal divorce papers citing adultery, financial dissipation of marital assets, and domestic endangerment due to unauthorized strangers accessing our home around our minor child. Simultaneously, I secured an emergency court order freezing all corporate and personal accounts tied to Gregory's secondary alias, along with an immediate asset seizure notice for the luxury apartment at The Grandview Residences.
Phase two required a bit of theatrical staging.
At 7:00 PM, I hired a professional process server and two uniformed private security officers, instructing them to meet me outside the downtown apartment building. I also arranged for a trusted locksmith to accompany us.
Driving my car downtown with Toby safely staying over at my sister’s house for the night, my hands gripped the steering wheel with absolute, cold resolve. The hospital scrubs I wore felt like battle armor.
When we arrived at The Grandview Residences, the doorman took one look at my federal hospital badge, the two security guards, and the legal papers flashing in the process server's hand, and wisely decided to open the service elevator without asking a single question.
We rode up to the fourteenth floor in absolute silence.
Unit 1402.
The locksmith stepped forward, inserting his professional tension wrench into the heavy deadbolt. With a quiet, oiled click, the lock gave way. The door swung open smoothly, revealing a dimly lit, expensively decorated living room reeking heavily of coconut and vanilla body spray.
Soft jazz music was playing from a wireless speaker in the corner.
From down the hallway, muffled laughter and the clinking of wine glasses drifted into the open air.
“Gregory!” a sweet, girlish voice called out from the master bedroom. “Did you bring the champagne I asked for, babe? Or are you too busy thinking about your boring wife again?”
The process server raised his eyebrows, glancing sideways at me. I gestured forward, a cold, humorless smile touching my lips.
We marched down the hallway in unison. The door to the bedroom was pushed wide open.
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There stood Gregory, wearing only a silk bathrobe, holding two crystal flutes of champagne, while Chloe Vance—the bakery girl—lounge lazily against plush pillows on the king-sized bed, wearing my teardrop sapphire necklace sparkling against her skin.
Gregory froze mid-sentence, the champagne flutes slipping from his fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor with a deafening crash of glass and golden bubbles.
