I leaned against the doorframe and watched him pile suitcases in the hallway.
“That’s thoughtful of you, Grant,” I said. “Though I’m curious about something.”
He finally looked at me, his expression wary.
“What?”These business consulting fees you’ve been paying to LB Consulting? Fifteen thousand over four months. Can you explain what services you received for that investment?”
His face went carefully blank—the expression he used with difficult clients when he was buying time to formulate an answer.
“That’s business development. Portfolio expansion strategies. It’s complicated.”
“I’m a contracts attorney, Grant. I understand ‘complicated.’ What I don’t understand is why a business consulting firm has no website, no business registration, no tax identification number, and no professional presence anywhere online.”
“Lydia operates under a different business model,” he said, his voice taking on a defensive edge. “Not everyone needs a traditional corporate structure to provide value.”
“Lydia,” I repeated, letting the name hang in the air between us. “So LB Consulting is Lydia Brennan? Your personal trainer is also your business consultant?”
“She’s more than a personal trainer,” Grant’s voice rose slightly. “She’s a wellness coach. A life strategist. A—”
“A con artist.”
The words landed like a slap.
Grant’s face flushed red, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“You’re jealous,” he said, his voice shaking with anger. “You can’t stand that I found someone who actually supports my growth, who understands my potential, who—”
“Who’s also taking money from Rebecca Winters, Sarah Blackwood, Jennifer Ashford, and Marcus Chin using the exact same playbook she used on you,” I said evenly.
Grant froze. His mouth opened, closed, opened again.
“What are you talking about?”
I checked my watch. 4:46 p.m. Perfect timing.
“I’m talking about the fact that your girlfriend is running a rotation system across northern New Jersey,” I said. “Monday mornings with Rebecca, who thinks she’s helping Lydia escape an abusive ex–boyfriend. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons with Sarah, who believes she’s supporting Lydia through a family medical crisis. Wednesday evenings with Jennifer, who’s convinced she’s funding Lydia’s professional certifications. Friday lunches with Marcus, who thinks he’s investing in her startup business. And weekends with you, who believes he’s her financial knight in shining armor.”
The color had completely drained from Grant’s face. He looked like someone who’d just been told gravity was optional, that he’d been flying all along without realizing it.
“That’s not true,” he whispered. “You’re making this up to—”
“To what, Grant? To save a marriage you just publicly destroyed on our front porch?” I pulled out my phone and opened Lydia’s Instagram, turning the screen so he could see her carefully curated feed. “Look at the location tags. Look at the timestamps. Cross–reference them with your own calendar and you’ll see the pattern.”
His hand trembled as he took my phone, scrolling through the posts. I watched his face change as he processed what he was seeing—the Monday morning yoga posts from Montclair, the Tuesday afternoon boutique visits in Short Hills, the Wednesday evening wellness dinners in Summit, the Friday restaurant photos from Tenafly.
“She told me those were client sessions,” he said. “Weekly training appointments with other people.”
“She told you the truth,” I said. “She just didn’t specify what kind of training she was providing.”
I took my phone back and opened the email app.
“Which is why I think it’s time we all had a conversation about Lydia’s specialized services.”
Grant looked at me like he was seeing a stranger.
“What did you do?”
“What any good attorney does when she discovers fraud. I documented everything, built an airtight case, and contacted the other victims.”
I showed him the email draft, letting him read the subject line and recipient names.
“In approximately forty–five seconds, I’m going to send this email to four people who are going to be very interested in comparing notes about their experiences with Lydia.”
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