Chapter 7: The War Room
1320 Words
Harper's apartment had transformed overnight into something that looked like a detective's murder board.
I stood in the doorway of her spare bedroom, coffee going cold in my hand, staring at what she'd created. The walls were covered. Photos, timelines, printed financial statements, sticky notes in three different colors. Red strings connected different points like we were tracking a serial killer.
Which, in a way, I guess we were. A killer of trust. Of love. Of everything I'd believed in.
"When did you do all this?" I asked.
Harper looked up from her laptop, glasses perched on her nose. She'd been wearing the same clothes since yesterday. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I might as well be productive."
I moved closer, studying the web she'd created. On the left wall, a timeline starting five years ago. Our wedding date circled in red. Below it, notes in Harper's neat handwriting.
Layla bridesmaid. Danced with E three songs. Left reception early, E gone for 20 mins.
My stomach clenched. "You think they were together that night?"
"I think we need to consider every possibility." Harper stood, stretched. "Look at this."
She pointed to a section labeled FINANCIAL. Bank statements. Credit card bills. Some highlighted in yellow.
"I pulled what I could access from your joint accounts," she said. "Look at these charges. The Mandarin Oriental. Four times in the last six months, always on days you were traveling for work."
The numbers blurred. The Mandarin Oriental. Five-star hotel. Twenty minutes from our apartment.
"Why would he need a hotel when we live in the city?" My voice sounded distant.
"Exactly." Harper clicked through her laptop, pulled up more statements. "And look at this. Jewelry purchases from Tiffany's. Three separate occasions. Did you get any jewelry from Tiffany's in the last year?"
I shook my head.
"Right. So who did?" She let that hang in the air. "My guess? Little sister dearest."
I sank into the chair beside her desk. The evidence was mounting, piece by piece, painting a picture I didn't want to see but couldn't ignore.
"How much?" I asked quietly.
"How much what?"
"How much did he spend on her?"
Harper hesitated. Then turned the laptop toward me. A spreadsheet. Numbers in neat columns. At the bottom, a total that made my vision swim.
Forty-seven thousand dollars.
"That's just what I can track from the last six months," Harper said gently. "Could be more. Could be accounts I don't know about."
Forty-seven thousand dollars. On hotel rooms and jewelry and God knows what else. Money from our joint account. Money I'd helped earn. Money that was supposed to be building our future.
"I'm going to be sick," I said.
Harper was already moving, trash can in hand. But I breathed through it, focused on the wall, on the evidence, on anything but the betrayal of it all.
"We need more," I said once I could speak again. "Bank statements aren't enough. We need to prove it was him making these charges. He'll just say the account was compromised or..."
"Way ahead of you." Harper pulled up another file. "I may have done something legally questionable."
"Harper..."
"I hacked his email."
I stared at her. "You what?"
"Don't look at me like that. You wanted evidence." She spun the laptop back toward herself, typing rapidly. "His password was literally your wedding date. Not even creative. Anyway, I found these."
Email after email filled the screen. Messages between Ethan and Layla going back, back, back...
"Two years," Harper said quietly. "They've been communicating for two years, Vi. Maybe longer, but that's as far back as his email history goes."
Two years. Not six months. Not since some recent moment of weakness. Two years of lies. Two years of messages like:
Can't wait to see you tonight. Told V I have a late meeting.
Miss you already. That thing you did with your...
I looked away before I could read more.
"There's worse," Harper said.
"How could it possibly be worse?"
She pulled up another email. This one from three months ago. Subject line: RE: The Plan.
I made myself read it.
We need to be patient. Once the divorce is finalized, we can be together openly. I'm working on moving assets she can't touch. Give me six more months.
The words wouldn't process. Couldn't process.
"He was planning to leave me," I said. "This wasn't just an affair. He was planning to leave me and take everything."
"Yes." Harper's voice was hard. "And your darling stepsister was in on it. Look at her response."
Six months feels like forever. But I trust you. Just promise me she won't get the apartment. I've always loved that place.
Something in me cracked. Not broke, I was already broken. But cracked in a different way. A way that let something cold and sharp seep through.
"She wanted my apartment," I said flatly. "She wanted my husband, my money, my life. And he was going to give it to her."
"Not anymore he's not." Harper closed the laptop. "Because we're going to take him apart, piece by piece. Legally. Professionally. Completely."
My phone rang. Unknown number. I answered without thinking.
"Ms. Carter?" A woman's voice, professional and clipped. "This is Rebecca Chen from Marcus Hale's office. I'm calling to confirm your eleven o'clock appointment."
I looked at Harper. She nodded.
"Yes," I said. "I'll be there."
"Excellent. Please bring any documentation you have regarding joint assets, financial records, and evidence of infidelity. Mr. Hale will need everything."
"I have photos," I said. "And emails. And bank statements showing money spent on his mistress."
A pause. Then, "That's good. That's very good. We'll see you at eleven, Ms. Carter."
She hung up.
Harper was already moving, pulling files from her printer, organizing everything into folders. "We've got two hours. Let's make sure we have everything he needs to bury them."
"What if it's not enough?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "What if Ethan finds a way to spin this? What if he has lawyers better than Marcus Hale?"
Harper stopped, turned to face me. "Then we fight harder. We dig deeper. We don't stop until we've taken everything that matters to him." She crossed to me, grabbed my shoulders. "Vi, listen to me. Ethan underestimated you. He thought you'd be too hurt, too broken to fight back. That's his mistake. Because you're not just fighting. You're going to win."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because you have something he doesn't." Harper smiled, fierce and certain. "You have the truth. And you have me. And we're f*****g unstoppable."
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to feel that certainty, that fire. But all I felt was hollowed out and exhausted.
"What if I can't do this?" I whispered. "What if I'm not strong enough?"
"You are." Harper pulled me into a hug, tight and grounding. "You're the strongest person I know. You just don't see it yet."
We stood there for a moment, surrounded by evidence of betrayal, and I let myself lean on her. Let myself be weak just for a second.
Then I pulled back, wiped my eyes, and looked at the wall again.
Two years of lies. Forty-seven thousand dollars. Plans to leave me with nothing.
They'd tried to destroy me quietly. Carefully. While I slept beside him, trusted him, loved him.
But they'd made one critical mistake.
They'd let me find out while I still had time to fight back.
"Okay," I said, and my voice was steady now. "Let's do this. Let's take everything."
Harper grinned. "Now you're talking. Come on. We've got a war to plan and a lawyer to impress."
She handed me one of the folders, packed with evidence, with proof, with ammunition.
I held it like a weapon.
Because that's exactly what it was.
And in less than two hours, I was going to start using it.
- Writer
