Chapter 7 - The Paper Trail
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Within thirty minutes, the boardroom had cleared of everyone except Silas and Laurel.
Federal agents, contacted through Marcus’s backchannels, were already waiting downstairs to escort Grant Varelli into custody.
The heavy silence returned, thick and painful.
Silas stood by the window overlooking Central Park, his back turned to his wife.
"You knew," he said, his voice hollowed out by humiliation.
"I didn't know everything until three hours ago," Laurel replied, packing her tablet into her leather briefcase.
"Why didn't you tell me months ago?"
"Because you had stopped listening to me, Silas."
Silas slowly turned to face her.
His gaze fell directly on her left cheek, where the bruise had darkened into a deep violet shadow.
A shudder passed through his broad shoulders.
"I didn't mean to hit you, Laurel."
"You did mean to hit me," she said, her voice completely devoid of anger.
"You struck me because for the first time in fifteen years, someone defied you in your own dining room, and you wanted to assert control."
"I was blind," he choked out, walking toward her with his hands open in desperate surrender.
"Sabrina manipulated everything."
"She played on my vanity, she played on my paranoia—"
"Don't blame Sabrina for your choices, Silas."
"Sabrina didn't buy the diamond pendant."
"Sabrina didn't sign the hotel receipts."
"And Sabrina didn't tell me to sit away from my own husband at Christmas dinner."
Silas stopped three feet from her, terrified that touching her would make her disappear forever.
"We built this together, Laurel."
"From that tiny studio in Brooklyn."
"From pushing that rusted Buick in the snow."
"You are my wife."
Laurel looked down at her bare left hand.
"No, Silas."
May you like
"I was your partner when you had nothing."
"Now that you have everything, I'm just the woman holding the evidence."
