Chapter 4 - THE BEST FRIEND'S ALIBI
The smile vanished from Laura’s face in a fraction of a second. The Italian takeout bag slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. A cardboard container split open, spilling garlic knots across the entryway rug.
“Michael?” Laura whispered, her voice high and breathless. Her eyes darted frantically around the room, taking in the bank statements, the photograph of David in the jewelry store, and Emily’s tear-stained face. “What… what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the exact same thing, Laura,” Michael said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He walked slowly toward her, his hands tucked quietly into his pockets. “Though I suppose you were planning to drop by later anyway, after David finished his ‘client dinner.’”
Laura’s chest heaved. She pressed her back against the hallway wall, looking like a trapped animal. “Michael, listen to me. It’s not what you think. David and I—we panicked. We made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Emily stepped forward, her voice shaking with pure, unadulterated fury. “You helped him steal my college fund? You helped him funnel money to a twenty-four-year-old college student?”
Laura’s head snapped toward Emily, her eyes widening in genuine confusion. “What? Whose college fund? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play stupid!” I shouted, finally breaking my silence. I pushed past the kitchen island, closing the distance between us until I was standing inches from my best friend of seventeen years. The woman who had held my hand at my father’s funeral. The woman who had eaten at our table every Thanksgiving. “We have the bank statements, Laura! We have the offshore accounts! We know about the affair, and we know about the money!”
Laura grabbed my wrists, her fingers digging into my skin with desperate urgency. “Sarah, I swear to God, I didn't know anything about an offshore account! I don't know what David did with Emily's money!”
“Then why were you kissing him on the neck?” I demanded, shaking her hands off me. “Why did he come home tonight covered in your lipstick?”
Laura froze. She looked across the kitchen at David, who was still staring blankly at the floor. A flash of pure, venomous betrayal crossed her face.
“My lipstick?” Laura scoffed, a bitter, hysterical laugh escaping her lips. “Sarah, I haven't worn red lipstick in three years. I wear nude gloss. Ask anyone.”
I blinked, momentarily stunned. I looked back at the red stain on David’s white shirt and the mark on his jaw.
It wasn't Laura’s lipstick.
Michael walked over, picking up the jewelry store photograph of David and the twenty-four-year-old girl named Chloe. He held it up in front of Laura.
“Do you know her?” Michael asked.
Laura stared at the picture. Her jaw tightened, and all the color drained from her cheeks. “Oh, my god.”
“You do know her,” I said.
“She’s David’s assistant,” Laura whispered, looking horrified. “At the real estate firm. Her name is Chloe Vance. She started six months ago.”
Answer one: Laura wasn't the woman David was having the primary affair with; she was a convenient cover, or perhaps just another pawn in David’s web of lies.
“An assistant,” Michael repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He turned his cold gaze back to David. “So the lakeside restaurant. The weekend trips to Chicago. The diamond bracelet. That wasn't Laura.”
David squeezed his eyes shut, nodding slowly. “No.”
“You used Laura as a decoy,” Michael realized, the pieces clicking together with terrifying clarity. “Because Laura and David had lunch together often for work, you assumed we’d suspect them if anyone saw them together. It kept us looking in the wrong direction while he was busy laundering money with a twenty-four-year-old!”
I stared at my husband, feeling sick to my stomach. The cruelty of it took my breath away. He hadn't just betrayed our marriage; he had weaponized my closest friendship to protect his secret life.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why, David? Why Chloe? Why steal from our daughter?”
David finally looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with red, filled with a pathetic, cornered desperation.
“Because Chloe was the only one who didn't look at me like I was a fading old man,” David choked out, his voice cracking. “The firm is failing, Sarah. I lost millions in a bad land acquisition six months ago. The partners are going to vote me out next week. I needed capital to start a new firm with Chloe. She had connections. She promised she could save me.”
“So you used Emily’s future to buy yourself a twenty-four-year-old mistress and a second chance?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.
Before David could answer, Emily let out a sharp, breathless gasp. She pointed a trembling finger at David’s coat, which was slung over the back of the kitchen chair.
“Dad,” Emily whispered. “What is that sticking out of your pocket?”
We all looked.
Protruding from the inner lining of David’s leather jacket was a small, cream-colored envelope with a red wax seal.
It wasn't a bank statement. It wasn't a receipt.
It was a wedding invitation.
Open two: Whose name was printed on the wedding invitation inside David’s jacket, and why was the date set for this coming Saturday?
May you like
Michael walked over, pulled the envelope from the pocket, and slid the card out. He opened it, read the first line, and went completely gray.
Cliffhanger: “Sarah,” Michael said, his voice shaking so badly the paper rattled in his hands. “This isn't a wedding invitation for David and Chloe. It’s for David and… and your sister, Karen.”
