Evelyn Hart.
The woman he had reduced to convenience.
I looked at him.
“Not yet.”
His mouth closed again.
I asked Alexis about the money.
Dinners.
Hotels.
Jewelry.
Designer stores.
Weekend trips.
Then Cabo.
A twelve-thousand-dollar villa prepaid for the following week.
Richard had told her not to worry about the cost because he wanted to “treat her right.”
Her voice broke on that phrase.
I pulled out my phone and opened the banking app.
One by one, I scrolled through charges.
Dinner at Le Bernardin: $470.
Tiffany: $8,200.
Hotel suite downtown: $600.
Designer boutique: $1,900.
Airline tickets.
Spa charges.
Cash withdrawals.
Alexis watched the numbers move across the screen.
She turned to Richard.
“You told me this was your money.”
Richard shifted.
“It’s complicated.”
“No,” I said. “It’s arithmetic.”
I looked at Alexis.
“I paid for his practice losses. His car payment. This house. His staff payroll twice when he missed revenue targets. The joint account he used for your necklace is filled by my salary from my little job.”
Alexis covered her mouth.
For the first time since she entered my home, she looked twenty-five.
Not glamorous.
Not powerful.
Just young, ashamed, and badly misled by a man old enough to know exactly what he was doing.
Richard’s face was red now.
Not from shame.
Anger.
He was angry I was humiliating him with truth.
That would become important later.
Because Richard always believed the harm he caused was private, but the consequences were public cruelty.
Alexis suddenly straightened.
“My father,” she said.
“What?”
She turned to Richard.
“You promised to help my father’s career.”
Richard’s face went still.
I looked between them.
“Who is your father?”
Alexis swallowed.
“Knox Marcato.”
My stomach dropped.
Knox Marcato worked in my company’s operations department. Four years. Solid performance. Quiet. Reliable. Never once asked for special treatment.
I turned to Richard.
“You promised to influence Knox’s career at my company?”
Richard stared at the floor.
His silence answered.
That was when the affair became something larger than betrayal.
It had entered my business.
My company.
The one thing I had kept separate.
The one thing Richard had never been allowed to touch.
Alexis began crying.
Not pretty tears.
Real, ugly sobs that smeared mascara across her face.
“How much of what you told me was true?” she asked him.
Richard had no answer.
I stood.
“Alexis, leave my house.”
She did not argue.
She grabbed her purse, then the coat I had placed on the chair. At the door, she turned back.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know you were real.”
It was such a strange thing to say that I almost laughed.
Of course I was real.
But to her, I had not been.
I had been a story Richard told.
A faceless obstacle.
An older wife.
A convenience.
A joke.
A woman with a little job.
She left.
I watched her car disappear down the street before closing and locking the door.
When I turned, Richard was right behind me, reaching for my arm.
I stepped back.
“Don’t touch me.”
He began talking fast.
The affair meant nothing.
He loved me.
He would end it.
We could work through this.
He was stressed.
He was embarrassed.
He had felt emasculated.