Eleanor silently took out her phone, swiped the screen, and showed Victoria photos of the same documents.
“I’m a doctor, not an idiot,” she said, watching the other woman’s pupils dilate. “I know everything. And tomorrow, everyone else will, too.”
Victoria stared at her with a mixture of astonishment and shame.
“You’re not like…” she stammered.
“Like a scorned wife?” Eleanor gave a bitter laugh. “And you’re not like a calculating homewrecker. It seems we were both wrong about the same man.”
A strange silence fell between them, not hostile, but almost one of solidarity.
“What are you going to do?” Victoria whispered, wrapping both hands around her coffee cup as if seeking warmth.
“Come to dinner,” Eleanor said, standing up, feeling a sudden weariness. “You’ll see.”
“I’ll be there,” Victoria said firmly. “I think I’ve earned the right to be there. If only to watch him get what he deserves.”
Eleanor left money for the untouched coffee and stepped out into the fresh air, taking a deep breath. The conversation had left a strange aftertaste: bitterness mixed with an unexpected sense of relief. She wasn’t the only victim.
Saturday evening was cool. The wind pushed clouds across the darkening sky. The apartment smelled of fresh baking, flowers, and the particular tension that precedes a storm. Eleanor, in a sleek black dress, was finishing setting the table. Silverware clinked softly against china, and candles cast flickering shadows on the walls. Her fingers brushed against a folder of documents; she felt the cool, smooth paper. Everything was ready. Her heart beat steadily, calmly, like it did before a complex surgery.
The doorbell rang sharply, making her jump.
“You look amazing,” Andrew said, giving her an appraising look. His hand nervously adjusted his silk tie. His eyes darted around the room, not settling on anything.
“Thank you,” she smiled, thinking that this was their last evening together. Fifteen years, ending here and now.
The guests arrived one by one. The room filled with the hum of voices, laughter, and the rustle of clothing. The scents of various perfumes mingled with the smell of burning candles—a sweet, almost cloying cocktail. The clinking of glasses, hushed conversations, a strained politeness.
Carol Peterson, Andrew’s mother, hugged her daughter-in-law. She smelled faintly of the same perfume she’d worn the day they first met.
“You look tired, Ellie dear,” she whispered, holding Eleanor’s hand tightly in her own wrinkled ones.
“I’m fine. Or I will be soon,” Eleanor replied, noticing Andrew tense up nearby. His knuckles were white on his wine glass.
Victoria was the last to arrive: hesitant, pale, in a severe navy dress, without the sapphire necklace. When Andrew saw her, his expression shifted from tense to terrified. He crossed the room in quick strides, trying to intercept her at the door, but Eleanor got there first.
“Victoria, so glad you could make it!” she announced in a clear voice, drawing the attention of the guests. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Andrew’s colleague.”
Her mother-in-law sized up the young woman with a practiced, sharp gaze, the look of a woman who could see right through people. The room grew noticeably quieter.
When everyone was seated at the table, the crisp white tablecloth looked like a battlefield before the first charge. Eleanor stood up, holding a crystal glass that cast rainbow reflections on the cloth.
“To the truth,” she said clearly, looking directly into her husband’s eyes.
Andrew nearly choked on his wine; she saw his Adam’s apple bob. Then, calmly setting down her glass, Eleanor walked over to a laptop connected to a projector. The click of a button sounded like a cocked hammer.
“Before we begin dinner, I have some news to share,” her voice was unnaturally calm.
A document with their company logo appeared on the wall.
“First, Andrew and I are separating.”
The guests gasped. Someone dropped a fork, the metal clattering against china. Carol Peterson clutched her chest.
“And second,” Eleanor continued, clicking through the slides with steady hands, “I’d like to show you why.”
On the screen appeared documents proving the transfer of funds from the company to the accounts of a shell corporation, payment orders with Andrew’s signature, and emails where he discussed with Victoria how best to cover their tracks.
“Fraud,” Eleanor stated calmly, though everything inside her was trembling. “I’ll be taking these documents to the police tomorrow.”
A deafening silence fell. It seemed as if even the clock on the wall had stopped ticking. Dave, the CFO and a longtime family friend, turned a pasty white; his fork, with a piece of uneaten steak, froze mid-air.
“Andrew,” he said hoarsely. “Is this true?”
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