Chapter 10 - Ruth’s Confession
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Evan’s face drained of all color.
“Julian Thorne? What does he have to do with Sloane?”
“Everything,” I said, letting the reality sink into the room. “She’s a corporate spy, Evan. She was planted by Thorne Enterprises to extract the Connecticut blueprints from you.”
“You’re lying!” Evan shouted, taking a step toward me. “You’re just a jealous, bitter ex-wife trying to ruin my life because I stopped loving you!”
“Evan, enough!” Arthur roared, slamming his cane against the hardwood floor.
Before Arthur could continue, Ruth Whitcomb stood up from the sofa. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but for the first time in six years, there was a fierce, unyielding fire in her gaze.
“She’s not lying, Evan,” Ruth said softly.
Everyone turned to look at the usually submissive matriarch.
Ruth reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a stack of glossy 8x10 photographs, throwing them onto the coffee table.
They were surveillance photos.
Sloane Mercer sitting in a dimly lit restaurant, passing a manila folder to Julian Thorne. Sloane and Julian getting into a black town car together. Sloane kissing Julian outside a luxury hotel. The date stamps on the photos were from the exact week Evan was in Chicago.
Evan stared at the pictures, his breathing turning shallow.
“Where… where did you get these, Mom?”
“I hired a private investigator the morning after Christmas,” Ruth said, her voice shaking but entirely resolute. “You brought a woman into my home who slapped my daughter-in-law. Did you really think I would just let that stand?”
I stared at Ruth, completely stunned. For years, I had organized her life, assuming she saw me as nothing more than a useful assistant. I never realized she saw me as family.
“She played you, Evan,” Ruth continued, tears spilling down her cheeks. “She used your arrogance, and you were too blind to see it.”
Evan collapsed into an armchair, covering his face with his hands. The reality of his absolute destruction was finally crashing down on him.
Arthur looked at the photos, his jaw tight. He turned to me.
“Claire. Do you have the bait ready?”
“Vance prepared the fake architectural files yesterday,” I confirmed, feeling the final pieces of the board snapping into place.
May you like
Arthur nodded once, a cold, ruthless glint in his eye.
“Good. Evan, pick up your phone. Call your pregnant mistress. Tell her you’ve secured the master files from my safe.”
