Chapter 2The designated driver

I set my phone face-down on the counter and walked into the kitchen to pour a glass of water.

The water was ice cold, but I didn't feel it as it slid down my throat.

I sat back down and pulled up my calendar. I cross-referenced every single "late-night team meeting," every "staying at my buddy's place," and every "networking event" Liam had claimed to attend over the past three years.

I opened Sarah's corporate travel and expense logs and compared them line by line.

Match. The second date, match.

Third, fourth, fifth... almost every single date matched perfectly.

The timestamps aligned within a fifteen-minute margin of error. It was choreographed.

I pulled up the "selfies" he had sent me over the years. I had never bothered to scrutinize the backgrounds before.

Zooming in on one photo taken in a hotel hallway, I saw a reflection in a decorative mirror behind him. A sliver of a silhouette, the collar of a blouse, the hem of a skirt.

It was the exact outfit Sarah had posted on her Instagram that very same day.

I saved every single screenshot and dumped them into a master folder on my desktop.

My father had been calling me relentlessly for the past few days. Our luxury auto group was expanding into its third major metropolitan market.

The West Coast division desperately needed an executive who could make the hard calls. He called me, skipping the pleasantries entirely:

"How much longer are you going to play around driving Ubers?"

"Do you have any idea how many critical decisions are bottlenecked right now waiting for you to come back?"

I said, "Just give me a little more time."

He went silent for a moment. "Are you still hung up on that boy?"

I didn't answer.

He sighed, his voice softening.

"Your mother told you years ago that boy was shallow and short-sighted. We tried to stop you, but you insisted on slamming your head against a brick wall. Are you finally done?"

I said, "Dad, as soon as I finish cleaning up the mess here, I'll head back and take over the West Coast division. Send Chloe over to me first."

He was quiet for a while before finally saying,

"Alright. I'll have Chloe fly out to you tomorrow."

After hanging up, I got a text from Liam. He said he had to stay late at the office to finish a pitch deck.

He asked if I had eaten, told me not to wait up, and said he'd be home very late.

He ended the text with "Be a good girl and wait for me at home," followed by a kissing emoji.

I replied with a simple "Okay."

Then I grabbed my coat, walked out the door, and called an Uber.

I gave the driver the address of Liam's "office."

When I arrived, the corporate building was completely dark. The entire floor was deserted.

I walked across the street, found a concrete planter to sit on, and waited.

Ten minutes later.

Sarah's sleek Audi turned the corner and pulled to a stop on the side of the road.

Liam approached from the opposite direction, walking quickly. He opened the passenger door and slid in.

The windows rolled up.

The car stayed parked. It didn't drive away.

I pulled out my phone, switched to video mode, and pointed the camera directly at the Audi.

Ten minutes.

Thirty minutes.

A full hour.

The car just sat there under the amber glow of the streetlight, the engine idling.

The chassis was shaking. The movement wasn't violent, but it was rhythmic and continuous.

I saved the video, stood up, dusted off the back of my jeans, and called a ride home.

He walked through the front door at 1:00 AM. As he entered, he sighed heavily and said, "Working late is brutal."

He tossed his briefcase onto the sofa, kicked off his shoes, and went straight to the shower.

When he came out, his hair was still damp. He leaned against the headboard, scrolling through his phone, a look of profound, lazy satisfaction on his face.

It wasn't the exhaustion of a long workday. It was the heavy, satiated relaxation of someone who had just gotten exactly what they wanted.

He looked up and noticed I was still awake. "Why are you still up? Don't you have to drive tomorrow?"

I said, "Couldn't sleep."

He gave a noncommittal "Hmm" and didn't ask anything else.

He turned off his lamp and lay down. Three minutes later, his breathing was deep and even.

Over the past three years, how many of those "late nights at the office" were actually spent sweating in the passenger seat of that Audi?

I sent Chloe a text: [Fly in tomorrow. We need to talk.]

Chloe arrived the next afternoon. She sat down across from me, her first words being:

"Boss, have you finally snapped out of it?"

I slid my phone across the table to her.

The screenshots of the forensic accounting, the hour-long video of the shaking Audi, the dashcam footage from the Uber ride. I showed her every single file, one by one.

She watched it all in silence. A long silence. Then, she slid the phone back to me.

"How do you want to play this?"

I said, "The annual corporate gala. We'll end it there."