I didn’t cry. By then, the shock had calcified into pure, freezing cold resolve.
The final piece of the puzzle dropped two days later, captured by the camera hidden in the home office. I watched through the digital zoom lens as Gregory sat at his mahogany desk, speaking urgently on speakerphone to a man named David.
“Just process the second signature form,” Gregory instructed firmly. “She’s too busy managing the pediatric clinic to check the digital portal notices. We need that hundred and fifty thousand dollars of equity released immediately to fund C-Lane Ventures. Chloe’s boutique is going to be a goldmine.”
My stomach turned. He wasn’t just cheating on me; he was systematically looting our financial future, forging my name to steal the equity from the home we had built together for Toby.
