Chapter 3
I drove from the firm out to the Riverside East house, which my father had given me as a wedding gift and which had sat empty ever since.
Nobody had lived there in three years, but the property manager had kept the place in good shape.
I pushed the door open, and sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the white marble in the living room.
The house came to 2,800 square feet with four bedrooms and two living rooms, and every window faced the river, which made Julian's penthouse feel closed in by comparison.
I opened the suitcase I'd brought and started putting my things away.
My phone rang with Helen's name on the screen, and after a second of hesitation I answered.
"Lauren, what is this circus?" Helen's voice came out sharp and rushed. "Do you have any idea how that message made Julian look?"
"Helen, respect goes both ways," I said.
"What is that supposed to mean? You've been in this family three years. Have you gone without a single thing? Julian works, he has dinners to attend, and a man who doesn't come home at night is nothing unusual..."
"Five nights in a row at Sophie's place? That's a business dinner?"
The line stopped for two seconds.
"Who told you he was at Sophie's?"
"The dashcam." My voice stayed level.
"His car sat outside Emerald Bay West five nights running, and that's Sophie's address. Do you want me to send you the screenshots, Helen?"
Helen went quiet. "Even if something is going on, a wife who can't hold on to her own husband has nobody to blame but..."
I hung up, because nothing after that was worth hearing.
I set Helen's number to do not disturb, and I did the same with Jenna's.
I was about to put the phone down when a text from Julian came in.
Julian: [Come home. We'll talk face to face.]
I wrote back two words: [Already home.]
Julian: [Where are you?]
I wrote: [My own house.]
Julian: [Lauren, don't make a scene.]
I laid the phone facedown on the table. A scene?
Was that not patience, reheating his dinner at 2 in the morning? Or watching the livestream at home while he took Sophie to the holiday party? Or smiling and pouring Helen's coffee while she told me I wasn't good enough for her son?
I swallowed it long enough that even he came to see all of it as normal.
Staying out all night was normal. Keeping a secretary on the side was normal. A wife who faded into the furniture was normal too.
And the moment I stopped swallowing it, he called it a scene?
The doorbell rang, and I opened the door expecting the property manager.
A man in a gray hoodie and a baseball cap stood outside with two bags of takeout.
"Lauren." It was Shawn.
"How did you know I was here?" I asked.
"You told me the Riverside East house was your wedding gift." He lifted the bags. "You haven't eaten all day."
I stepped aside, and he came in and set the food on the dining table.
"After Christine left, Julian sent someone else to my office," Shawn said.
"What did they want?" I asked.
"They asked what my price was. They want me off the case."
"What did you tell them?"
Shawn stopped halfway through unwrapping the plastic forks and grinned. "I told them this one's free."
*****
Early the next morning, the Eastgate group chat blew up.
It wasn't my message from the day before that set it off. It was a screenshot.
Someone had posted security camera stills online showing Julian's car parked at Emerald Bay West five nights in a row.
The caption was one word: [Receipts.]
I didn't know who put it up. It wasn't me, and it wasn't Shawn.
The story spread a lot faster than I expected.
At 10 in the morning, an anonymous post went up on the company message board.
[Is the thing between Mr. Eastgate and Ms. Turner real?]
More than 100 replies piled up under it, and it stayed at the top of the board for two hours.
By 10:30, HR had taken the thread down.
At 11, Julian's driver called me.
"Mrs. Eastgate, Mr. Eastgate is asking you to pick up. He says it's important," the driver said.
"Tell Mr. Eastgate to call my lawyer," I said.
I read out the number on Shawn's card.
After I hung up, I went back to unpacking the house.