Chapter 11 - The Anatomy of a TraitorDaniel’s hand trembled as he reached through the iron bars of the gate, his fingers brushing against the cold paper of the chat log transcript.
"Lauren, wait... listen to me," he stuttered, his voice dropping into a desperate, hushed tone as raindrops began to slick his dark hair. "It’s not what it looks like. I swear to God, it’s not what you think!"
"Is that your handwriting in the email thread, Daniel?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm against the backdrop of the falling rain. "Is that your signature authorizing Nicole’s access to the home network where my firm’s secondary credentials were saved?"
"I was trying to protect you!" he blurted out, a wild, cornered look flashing in his eyes. "My mother... she was drowning in debt from her San Diego property! She threatened to sell her story to the tabloids, to ruin my reputation, to drag your firm's name through the mud if I didn't help her! I thought... I thought if Nicole took small amounts from the buffer account, you wouldn't notice! You make millions every week, Lauren! It was pocket change to you!"
I took a slow step back, staring at the man I had shared a bed with for three years.
"Pocket change," I repeated softly. "You watched me work eighteen-hour days to build my firm from nothing while you and your family treated my life's work like a private trough. You didn't protect me, Daniel. You managed my exploitation."
"Lauren, please!" Daniel slammed his hand against the iron gate, tears welling in his eyes. "I love you! I made a mistake, a terrible, desperate mistake! We can fix this! I'll pay back every single dollar out of my personal trust! Just drop the charges against Nicole and my mom!"
"You don't have a personal trust, Daniel," I said, looking at him with absolute pity. "The trust you boast about was underwritten by my firm's collateral three years ago. And as of 8:00 AM this morning, that collateral has been entirely revoked."
Daniel’s face went hollow. His hands slowly slid down the wet metal bars.
"Arthur," I said, turning my back on my husband. "If Mr. Bennett refuses to leave the private driveway within two minutes, have security cite him for criminal harassment."
"Understood, Ms. Bennett," Arthur replied firmly.
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As I walked back up the long driveway toward the mansion, Daniel’s voice echoed through the cold rain behind me, breaking and pathetic: "Lauren! Please! Don't do this to me!"
I didn't turn back once.
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