Chapter 7 - The Suburbs
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Instead of heading straight to the city, I redirected the taxi to Grand Central Station. I needed to see it with my own eyes. I needed the physical reality to burn the last remaining bridges of hesitation in my mind.
I rented a quiet, unassuming sedan and drove out of the city, merging onto the highway toward Greenwich, Connecticut. The rain from earlier in the week had cleared, leaving the wealthy suburban enclave bathed in cold, crisp sunlight.
I pulled the address from my encrypted files and navigated through winding, tree-lined roads flanked by massive stone walls and wrought-iron gates. I parked the rental car half a block away from the property, killing the engine.
The house was a sprawling, modern architectural masterpiece of glass and dark wood, sitting on at least three acres of pristine landscaping. It was entirely secluded, beautiful, and completely paid for by the LLC Richard controlled.
I sank down slightly in the driver's seat, watching through the windshield.
Ten minutes later, the front door opened.
Evelyn walked out onto the expansive front porch, wearing a luxurious cashmere sweater and holding a mug of coffee. She looked relaxed, comfortable, and deeply content.
A moment later, the boy—Leo—ran out of the house holding a football.
And then, walking right behind him, wearing a casual sweater and jeans I had purchased for him last Christmas, was Richard.
My breath caught in my throat. He wasn't in Chicago. He had taken a town car to a secondary location, swapped vehicles, and driven an hour north to play house.
I watched as Richard laughed, tossing the football to the boy. Leo caught it perfectly, running across the manicured lawn. Richard jogged after him, scooping the eight-year-old up into his arms and spinning him around while Evelyn watched from the porch, smiling lovingly.
It was a picture-perfect family portrait. A masterpiece of deception.
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I sat in the cold car, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. I watched my husband give another child the time, energy, and love he constantly denied our daughter due to his "relentless work schedule."
I didn't cry. The pain had entirely mutated into a sharp, crystalline rage. I started the engine, threw the car into drive, and pulled away from the curb. I had seen enough. It was time to go to war.
