“Eliza, wait. Wait—”I looked at him with something between pity and contempt.
“You just threw divorce papers at me on our front porch and told me I have thirty–six hours to leave the house my ‘girlfriend’ supposedly owns. You humiliated me in front of our entire neighborhood. You expected me to collapse in tears and beg you to reconsider.”
I smiled, but there was nothing warm in it.
“But here’s what you forgot, Grant. I’m not some suburban housewife whose identity is wrapped up in her marriage. I’m a contracts attorney who specializes in finding the traps hidden in seemingly straightforward agreements. And your girlfriend? She’s the most poorly structured scam I’ve ever seen.”
I hit send at exactly 4:47 p.m.
The email disappeared from my outbox, launched into the digital void, heading toward four people whose lives were about to change in ways they couldn’t yet imagine.
Grant stared at my phone like it was a weapon I’d just fired.
“What have you done?”
“I’ve given four people the information they need to make informed decisions about their relationships with Lydia,” I said. “What they do with that information is up to them.”
I walked past him toward the bedroom.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to prepare for. I expect Rebecca Winters will reach out first. She’s an attorney. She’ll recognize the legal implications immediately. Sarah will probably call second once she’s had time to review the financial documentation. Jennifer and Marcus might take a bit longer to process.”
“Eliza—”
I closed the bedroom door in his face and sat down at my desk, opening my laptop.
My phone was already starting to buzz with incoming notifications.
The first call came at 5:03 p.m. Rebecca Winters, right on schedule. I let it ring twice before answering.
“Ms. Winters,” I said. “Thank you for calling so quickly.”
Her voice was controlled, but I could hear the fury underneath.
“Mrs. Hartwell, I received your email. These are serious allegations you’re making. I’m a divorce attorney. I’ve seen every manipulation tactic in the book. What makes you certain this isn’t just a misunderstanding or coincidence?”
I opened the folder on my laptop labeled LB CONSULTING – RESEARCH. Eight weeks of investigation that told a story Grant couldn’t even imagine.
“Ms. Winters, I’m going to share my screen with you,” I said. “What you’re about to see is documentation I’ve been compiling since early September.”
Through the bedroom door, I could hear Grant’s phone ringing, then ringing again, then again. His voice carried up the stairs, confused and defensive as he tried to answer multiple calls.
I pulled up the first document. Lydia’s website testimonials page. Five glowing reviews from “satisfied clients”: Rebecca Winters, divorce attorney. Sarah Blackwood, boutique owner. Jennifer Ashford, pharmaceutical executive. Marcus Chin, hedge–fund manager. And Grant Hartwell, wealth–management advisor.
Rebecca’s silence on the other end was heavy.
“I wrote that testimonial six months ago,” she said finally. “She asked me to share my transformation story. I thought I was helping her build credibility.”
“You were helping her build a client list,” I said. “Look at the pattern. All five of you are married professionals with significant assets, working in finance or high–level business. That’s not coincidence. That’s target selection.”
I heard her breathing change—faster now.
“Send me everything you have,” she said. “I want to see all of it.”
“I’m sending it now,” I said. “But I need you to understand something first. This investigation took me two months. I tracked her location patterns, cross–referenced credit–card charges, accessed public records, analyzed social–media activity. What I found is a systematic operation running across northern New Jersey with mathematical precision.”
My second call came through while I was still talking to Rebecca. Sarah Blackwood. I merged her into the conversation.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Sarah’s voice shook with barely controlled rage. “Because if you’re trying to blackmail me or—”
“Ms. Blackwood, I’m not trying to blackmail anyone,” I cut in. “I’m trying to show you that you’re not alone in this situation. Can you tell me how much you’ve paid to LB Consulting over the past seven months?”
Pause.
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