PART 3: CONFRONTATION AT THE SUITE
Instead of confronting them immediately, I let the play unfold while my legal team quietly secured emergency freeze orders on all associated accounts. At 3:45 p.m. that afternoon, I walked into the lobby of the boutique hotel on Newbury Street and rode the elevator up to the eighth floor.
Standing outside Suite 814, I could hear their muted voices through the heavy wooden door. They were celebrating, drinking champagne, and discussing how they would split my two hundred and forty thousand dollars once the transfer cleared.
I used the master keycard provided by the hotel’s owner—a high-profile client whose reputation my firm had saved two years prior—and stepped silently into the room.
The sight of Grant and Celeste sitting together with financial ledgers scattered across the bed was sickening, but I felt no tears, only a cold, decisive clarity. Celeste gasped, dropping her crystal glass onto the plush carpet, while Grant scrambled to cover the documents with a pillow.
“Avery! What are you doing here?” Grant stammered, his face draining of all color as he realized the door was locked behind me. I pulled out my phone, connected it to the suite’s wireless speaker system, and pressed play on the audio recordings Lucas had secured of their wire transfers.
(The ultimate reckoning is about to take place! Click “Next Page” to continue reading…)
