Chapter 2 - The Blue Folder
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The master bedroom door was ajar, a sliver of golden lamplight spilling out into the dark hallway. I stood there for a terrible, agonizing second, my breath caught in my throat, before I finally pushed the heavy wooden door open.
The second thing I saw, after the discarded wedding photo downstairs, was my husband, Owen, hurriedly attempting to climb out from the tangled sheets of our bed. Beside him sat Dana Vale. I knew exactly who she was. She was the most aggressive, high-profile supplier representative competing for contracts at Halcyon Medical, where Owen served as the vice president of procurement.
Dana did not look panicked. Instead, she lazily pulled my own emerald-green silk robe across her bare shoulders, a smug, unapologetic smile playing on her lips.
“Claire, wait,” Owen stammered, holding up a hand as if I had merely interrupted a dull afternoon board meeting rather than the destruction of our marriage.
My eyes bypassed his panicked face and landed squarely on the mahogany nightstand. There sat an expensive bottle of vintage champagne, two half-empty crystal flutes, and a thick blue folder heavily stamped with Halcyon Medical’s internal, confidential seal.
Dana’s firm was currently bidding on a forty-million-dollar surgical equipment contract. The blue folder lay wide open, prominently displaying highly confidential competitor scoring sheets and internal pricing metrics. Right beside the scattered papers rested Dana’s engraved visitor badge, leaving absolutely no doubt about her professional identity or the true, corrupt nature of her presence in my home.
The forensic accountant inside me instantly took over, drowning out the weeping wife. This wasn't just adultery; this was a massive corporate crime.
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Without saying a single word, I reached into my pocket, pulled out my smartphone, and raised the lens. I tapped the screen, the camera capturing the bed, the champagne, the confidential blue folder, and Dana’s badge in one crisp, undeniable, high-resolution photograph.
Dana laughed, a cruel, echoing sound. “You really want a picture of this?”
