“This is not the place.”
I looked at Tessa.
Her mascara had run down her face.
“Where would you prefer to discuss sleeping with my husband? At the lake house? In my bedroom? Or should we wait until Mason arrives?”
Tessa began crying.
“Please don’t call him.”
Grant snapped his head toward her.
“Stop talking.”
I opened the folder.
The first photograph showed them entering a boutique hotel six months earlier.
The second showed Grant placing his hand on Tessa’s back outside a private apartment.
The third showed him purchasing a sapphire necklace she later wore to my mother’s birthday dinner.
Then I placed a financial statement on the blanket covering them.
Grant’s expression changed.
Fear disappeared.
Calculation took its place.
“Where did you get that?”
“Eleven point eight million dollars moved from a Hartwell Global account into a consulting firm registered under Tessa’s maiden name.”
Tessa stared at Grant.
“You said she couldn’t access the company records.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“Be quiet.”
I almost smiled.
Less than ten minutes earlier, they had been partners.
Now fear was turning them against each other.
