Chapter 4 - The Receipt
The table went completely silent. Martin frowned, sensing the sudden, sharp drop in the temperature of the room. Derek’s charming smile froze on his face.
"Adriana," Derek murmured, his voice tight, carrying a subtle warning. "Not now. It's just business."
"Oh, I know it's business, Derek," I said, pulling a neatly folded piece of paper from my clutch. "I'm just incredibly impressed by the lengths Ashford & Marsh goes to for their client relations. For instance, the business expenses filed for the EaDo project."
I unfolded the paper. It wasn't a printout from a spreadsheet. It was a physical, itemized receipt I had retrieved from his home office safe two days prior.
I didn't hand it to Derek. I slid it smoothly across the crisp white tablecloth, stopping it directly in front of Martin, the lead investor.
"What is this?" Martin asked, adjusting his glasses.
"That," I said, my voice echoing in the sudden, breathless quiet of the table, "is an itemized receipt for a three-night stay at the Post Oak Hotel's luxury penthouse suite. Billed to the EaDo project's corporate account. Complete with room service charges for two bottles of Dom Pérignon and a couples massage." I turned my head, locking eyes with the mistress in the red dress. "Tell me, Paige. Did the vendors enjoy the champagne?"
All the color instantly drained from Paige's face. She looked like she had been physically struck, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Derek scrambled, his composure shattering entirely. He reached across the table, desperately trying to snatch the receipt away from Martin. "Martin, this is a misunderstanding. An accounting error. My wife is... she's pregnant, she's emotional—"
"I am pregnant, Derek," I interrupted, my tone laced with absolute, freezing steel. "But I am not emotional. I am precise."
Martin stared at the receipt, then looked up at Derek, his expression hardening into one of absolute disgust. "You're billing hundred-thousand-dollar luxury hotel stays with your Director of Business Development to my investment capital?"
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"Martin, please!" Derek hissed, sweating through his expensive tuxedo. "I can refund the account tomorrow! It's a fraction of the budget! We are breaking ground on the EaDo land next week, the returns will bury this!"
"You aren't breaking ground on anything, Derek," I said calmly.
