The Man in Last Row

Synopsis

The day my wife's company rang the bell for its IPO, I transferred fifty billion dollars into her account. When I arrived at the venue, a man wearing gold-rimmed glasses stopped me at the entrance. "And you are?" "Braiden Armstrong," I replied. "Reyna Goodwin's husband." He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my faded polo shirt before a polished professional smile appeared on his face. "Mr. Armstrong, your seat is in the last row. Please follow me." I didn't move and asked, "The last row?" He adjusted his glasses, his tone polite yet distant. "Today's guests include major investors and industry leaders. Front-row seats are limited. Olivia said you could sit wherever you'd like. Besides, these business matters probably aren't really your thing." Olivia. He called my wife by her first name. I glanced toward the first three rows of the auditorium. Every seat was occupied by impeccably dressed executives. Nameplates stood neatly in front of them. The last row didn't even have nameplates. I pulled out my phone and sent Reyna a message. [I'm sitting in the last row?] Ten seconds later, she replied with four words, [Don't make a scene.]