Chapter 3 - Brenda Panics As Her Double Life Collapses Completely
Brenda scrambled after us down the linoleum corridor, her designer heels clicking frantically against the hard hospital floor. Her pristine makeup was ruined by streaks of mascara, and her expensive silk blouse was twisted awkwardly around her shoulders.
"Laura, please! You can't listen to him, he's just bitter because our marriage fell apart!" Brenda wailed, grabbing desperately at the sleeve of my coat. I turned around slowly, my expression remaining completely impassive as I looked down at her desperate hands.
"Don't touch me, Brenda," I replied, my voice carrying a frosty authority that made her instantly recoil. Andrew planted his crutches firmly on the floor, blocking Brenda from following us any further into the seating area.
"You had your chance to explain when I found those hotel receipts in your purse last Tuesday, Brenda," Andrew snapped. Brenda glared at her husband with pure venom, all pretense of remorse vanishing behind a mask of sheer hatred.
"You ruined everything, Andrew! If you hadn't broken your ankle running after me, none of this would have happened!" she screamed. A hospital security guard stepped out from behind a pillar, his hand resting casually on his utility belt as he assessed the disturbance.
"Ma'am, you need to keep your voice down or I'll have to escort you off the premises," the guard warned sternly. Brenda swallowed hard, chest heaving as she realized public exposure was stripping away her last shred of dignity.
She turned her tear-streaked face back toward me, dropping her voice into a desperate, pleading whisper. "Mark made me do it, Laura! He said you were dead weight in the company and that I deserved a cut of the profits!"
Those words hit me like physical blows, confirming the exact betrayal I had suspected for over a year. Mark hadn't just drifted away; he had actively plotted to erase my existence from the very empire we built together.
I stared at Brenda with cold pity, realizing how easily pawns like her were manipulated by men like my husband. "Keep talking, Brenda," I said softly, pulling my phone from my pocket and tapping the voice recorder icon.
"Every single word you are saying right now is being saved for the federal prosecutors handling corporate fraud." Brenda went completely rigid, her eyes widening in horror as she realized she had just confessed on digital record.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and bolted toward the exit doors, fleeing into the bright Columbus sunlight. Andrew exhaled a long, shaky breath, sinking heavily into one of the plastic cafeteria chairs across from me.
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"What are we going to do with these files, Laura?" Andrew asked, sliding the manila folder across the sticky table surface. I opened the folder, my eyes scanning the staggering sums of money funneled into offshore accounts.
"We are going to take back everything they stole," I replied firmly.
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