Chapter 2 - THE COVERED DISH
Evelyn stood up so violently her chair scraped against the hardwood like a dying animal.
"She’s lying!" Evelyn shrieked, pointing a diamond-encrusted finger at my face. "She’s a penniless auditor from a disgraced county judge’s family! She married my son for his money, and now she’s making up stories because she couldn't keep his interest!"
Marcus Vance let out a quiet, dry laugh that cut through Evelyn’s screaming like a razor blade.
"Penniless, Evelyn?" Marcus asked, opening his leather binder. "Your late husband, Richard Whitmore, didn't leave his estate to Caleb. He knew his son was a gambling addict and a embezzler. He placed sixty percent of Whitmore Logistics into a blind trust, overseen by his most trusted friend—Judge Thomas Mercer."
Evelyn’s breath hitched. "Thomas Mercer is dead!"
"He is," I spoke up, stepping closer to Caleb. "Judge Mercer was my father. And before he died three years ago, he appointed his lead forensic auditor—his daughter—as the sole executioner of that trust."
Caleb’s knees visibly buckled. He grabbed the edge of the dining table to keep from falling onto the floor.
"You... you knew?" Caleb whispered, his voice trembling violently. "When we met in Atlanta... when I proposed... you knew about the trust?"
"No, Caleb," I said softly, looking into his pale, sweaty face. "When I met you in Atlanta, I thought you were just an ambitious man who loved me. I didn't find out about the trust until six months ago—when I caught you cheating with your chief strategy officer, Chloe Vance, and noticed three hundred thousand dollars missing from the shipping accounts."
Caleb’s eyes darted toward the covered dish I had placed before him at the head of the table.
"What is under here, Nora?" Caleb gasped, his breathing shallow and rapid. "What did you put on my table?"
I reached out, taking the silver handle of the dome cover.
"You spent six months thinking I was a timid little girl who cried in the bedroom while you stayed out all night with Chloe," I said, lifting the silver lid with a flourish.
Underneath the dome sat no food.
Resting on the velvet lining was a high-definition digital audio recorder, a stack of certified bank wire receipts, and an arrest warrant signed by the State Attorney General.
The digital recorder let out a soft click, and Caleb’s own voice echoed through the high-ceilinged dining room:
“She doesn't know anything, Chloe. Nora is an idiot. She sits at home baking biscuits while I move the union funds into the Cayman account. By the time she realizes the money is gone, I’ll have the divorce papers ready and she won't have a single dime to hire a lawyer.”
Evelyn slapped her hand over her mouth, stumbling backward.
Caleb stared at the recorder as if it were a venomous snake coiled on his plate.
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"That's illegal wiretapping!" Caleb roared, lunging toward me.
Before his hands could touch my neck, Detective Logan’s partner stepped forward, grabbing Caleb’s arm, twisting it behind his back, and slamming him face-down onto the table—right into the middle of his plate of peppered gravy.
