The next morning, I sat in Ashton’s office. The room was quiet. It smelled like polished mahogany and old paper. The rain from last night was gone, leaving the Seattle sky a cold, hard gray outside his floor-to-ceiling windows. I placed my hands on my lap. They were completely steady.
Ashton sat across the wide desk. He wore a dark navy suit, impeccably tailored. He looked at me, his dark eyes sharp and assessing.
“I want to hire you,” I said. “Officially. No more advice in the rain. I want you as my lawyer.”
He nodded slowly. He picked up a heavy gold fountain pen. He tapped it once against his leather-bound legal pad. “Once we do this, Claire, there is no going back. Caleb will fight. He is a man who likes to own things. He will make it ugly.”
“I don’t care,” I replied. “I want him out of my life. I want to leave him with nothing.”
Ashton stopped tapping the pen. He leaned forward. “The photos from the private investigator are a good start. They prove he lied about seeing Giselle. But they don’t prove the poisoning. And they don't trigger the strict at-fault clauses in your prenup.”
“What do we need?” I asked.
“We need irrefutable evidence,” Ashton said smoothly. His voice was calm, grounding me. “Audio. Video. A direct confession about the pills or the affair. Caleb is rich and powerful. He won't leave a paper trail for the money or the drugs. We need to catch him in the act.”
“He is too careful,” I said.
“Everyone gets careless when they think they are safe,” Ashton replied. “In his car. In his private spaces. That is where people tell the truth.”
I thought about the black Escalade. The car he sat in outside my apartment during the storm. The car he used to pick up Giselle from the airport.
“I can get that,” I said.
Ashton looked at me closely. His jaw tightened just a fraction. “Do not put yourself in physical danger, Claire. He is volatile.”
“I won’t,” I said. “I am just going to level the playing field.”
I left his office and drove straight back to my apartment. I walked into the bedroom and opened my closet. Caleb’s tailored charcoal coat hung in the back. He had left it behind on the couch the night I packed my bags. I had shoved it in a box and ignored it until now.
I pulled it out. As I held the heavy wool, a smell hit my nose. I froze.
It wasn’t Caleb’s usual cedar and coffee scent. It was heavy, sharp, and metallic. Giselle’s signature perfume. The exact same scent that used to linger in the air when she walked past me at college parties years ago.
My chest tightened. A wave of nausea washed over me. He had been wearing this coat when he held my hands at the restaurant. He had been wearing it when he cried and swore he was only trying to protect me. It was all a lie.
I didn't cry. The sadness was entirely gone. Only a cold, hard anger remained. I zipped the coat into a garment bag. It was the perfect excuse.
I went to an electronics store downtown. I bought a high-end, dual-lens dashcam. It was tiny, black, and cloud-syncing. It recorded the road, but it also recorded the cabin. High-definition audio and video.
I sat at my kitchen table and set it up. I linked it directly to a secure, hidden app on my phone. I tested the microphone. It picked up Barnaby’s soft breathing from across the room. Perfect.
At two in the afternoon, I drove to the Stone Capital building. I parked my rental car on a side street and walked down the concrete ramp into the underground corporate garage.
It was dim and freezing. My footsteps echoed loudly against the concrete walls. I walked past rows of luxury cars until I reached the private executive section.
Caleb’s black Escalade was parked in his reserved spot.
I stood in the shadows behind a thick concrete pillar and watched. The garage was empty. Caleb was upstairs in a board meeting. I knew his Tuesday schedule by heart.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my spare key fob. Caleb didn't know I still had it. I pressed the unlock button.
The Escalade beeped softly. The amber lights flashed once.
I walked quickly to the passenger side and opened the door. I slipped inside and pulled the heavy door shut.
The cabin was dark and silent. It smelled intensely of leather and that sharp, metallic perfume. My skin crawled. I took a deep breath and pulled a pair of blue surgical gloves from my pocket. I snapped them onto my hands.
I looked up at the rearview mirror. Caleb’s factory dashcam was mounted right behind it. I reached up and carefully pried the plastic casing loose. My fingers moved fast. I popped out his standard memory card and slipped it into my pocket.
Then, I took out the new dual-lens camera. I mounted it directly over the old spot. It blended in perfectly with the dark interior. I ran the ultra-thin wire along the edge of the headliner, tucking it out of sight. I plugged the micro-adapter into the car's OBD port under the dashboard. It would have constant power, even when the engine was off.
I pulled out my phone and opened the app.
A loading circle spun for two agonizing seconds. Then, the screen lit up with a live video feed.
The cabin camera was crystal clear. I could see my own gloved hands gripping the steering wheel. I tapped the screen. The audio picked up my shallow breathing.
I smiled. A tight, cold smile.
I locked the app and put my phone away. I took off the surgical gloves and stuffed them in my pocket. Finally, I grabbed the garment bag containing Caleb’s coat. I draped the coat neatly over the passenger seat.
If he caught me right now, I had my story ready. I was just returning his coat. I was just being a good, separated wife.
I opened the car door and stepped out into the cool garage air. I locked the Escalade. My heart was pounding against my ribs, but my mind was perfectly clear. The trap was set.
I turned to leave. I was halfway to the exit ramp when I heard a sound.
Click. Click. Click.
The sharp, rhythmic sound of high heels on concrete.
I stopped dead. I stepped back behind a thick concrete pillar and held my breath.
A woman walked into the executive parking area. She wore a pristine white trench coat and carried a designer leather tote. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, not a single strand out of place.
It was Giselle.
She walked with absolute confidence. She didn't look around. She headed straight for the private VIP elevator that led directly to Caleb’s penthouse office. The same elevator I used to take when I brought him lunch.
The metallic scent of her perfume seemed to drift through the cold garage air, hitting me all over again.
My hands balled into fists. My nails bit into my palms. She was going up to see him. Right now. In the middle of the workday.
I could have walked away. I had the camera installed. I could just watch the feed later from the safety of my apartment. But seeing her in person, walking through my husband's garage like she owned the place, sparked a fierce heat in my chest.
I needed to know how deep this went. I needed to know what they were planning next.
As the elevator doors slid open for her, I made a choice. I stepped out from behind the pillar and moved quietly into the shadows, following her trail.
