Before I could ask what he meant by “the real show,” the front doors of the restaurant opened.
A woman in a sharp charcoal suit stepped inside.
Two men followed her.
One carried a leather portfolio. The other had the calm, official posture of someone used to entering rooms and changing the temperature.
Daniel saw them and exhaled through his nose.
“There she is,” he murmured.
“Who?”
“Andrew’s company investigator.”
I looked at him, confused.
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“This isn’t only about the affair,” he said. “Your husband has been using company money to fund the lifestyle. Dinners, hotels, gifts. They traced it.”
I looked back at Andrew.
He was still laughing, still comfortable, still completely unaware that the life he had built on lies was walking toward him.