Chapter 7 - The Secret Mistress
The media storm surrounding Grant's arrest was absolute chaos.
News helicopters circled the downtown courthouse like vultures.
I sat in my secure downtown office, watching the live coverage on a massive flat-screen television.
Grant was standing on the courthouse steps with a sleazy defense attorney.
He was actually crying for the cameras
He was putting on the performance of a lifetime.
"I am a loving father," Grant sobbed into the microphones.
"My wife is having a mental health crisis and is using our daughter as a weapon."
I muted the television in disgust.
Harrison walked into my office carrying a thick manila envelope.
He did not look happy.
"Clara, my private investigators just finished digging into Grant's personal bank statements."
He placed the heavy envelope on my glass desk.
"You are going to want to see this."
I opened the flap and pulled out a stack of glossy photographs.
The first photo showed Grant walking into a luxury boutique hotel.
He was holding hands with a stunning blonde woman.
She looked to be about twenty-five years old.
"Who is she?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.
"Her name is Chloe Evans," Harrison explained.
"She is a junior curator at the Bennett Foundation Museum."
My blood turned to absolute ice.
He had been sleeping with an employee.
He had been sleeping with someone who worked in the very building where our daughter was injured.
"How long?" I demanded.
"Three years," Harrison replied gently.
I flipped to the next photograph.
It was a picture of Chloe wearing a very familiar piece of jewelry.
It was the diamond tennis bracelet Grant had claimed was stolen from our hotel room in Paris last year.
"He bought her an apartment," Harrison continued.
"He used the corporate charity fund to pay her rent."
I stared at the photograph of the smiling, oblivious mistress.
I didn't feel heartbroken.
I felt absolute, burning rage.
"She was at the gala, wasn't she?" I asked.
I remembered a blonde woman standing near the champagne tower.
She had been watching Grant all night.
Harrison nodded slowly.
"Yes, she was."
"She saw him shove Sophie."
"And she didn't say a word."
I picked up the photographs and neatly placed them back into the envelope.
"Harrison, I want to change our strategy," I said.
"What do you have in mind?" he asked cautiously.
"Grant wants to play the victim on national television."
I stood up and smoothed my tailored skirt.
"So, we are going to give the media a better story."
I walked over to the window looking over the city.
May you like
"Call a press conference for tomorrow morning."
"I am going to burn his entire life to the ground."
