My phone vibrated on the white tablecloth. “Happy second anniversary, baby,” his message read. I looked up, and Alex had his hand on the back of another woman’s neck.
Before I could move, a man I didn’t know sat down beside me — calm, composed, as if he had been expecting this moment. He placed a document on the table with my name written in red. It didn’t say “lawsuit.” It didn’t say “divorce.” It said: “Deceased Beneficiary.”
I felt the glass slipping from my hand.
A woman in a black suit appeared on the other side of the table. “Mrs. Valerie Montgomery, I’m Investigator April Chambers.” Alex’s voice cracked.
“What is this?” April didn’t blink. “An investigation for fraud, identity theft, and attempted life insurance collection.”
The pregnant mistress brought her hands to her belly. “Alex… what does that mean?” He didn’t look at her.
He looked at me. For the first time in months, not with annoyance. With fear.
The man beside me — Nicholas — stood slowly.
“It means your husband wasn’t just cheating on you, Valerie. It means he’s spent weeks planning your death.”
The restaurant ran out of air. The Upper East Side, with its elegant window displays and absurdly expensive restaurants, suddenly felt like a cheap theater.
“You’re alive,” April said. “And that just ruined a lot of your husband’s plans.”
Alex stood up. “This is insane.” One of the officers stepped forward.
“Sit down.” “I’m a corporate lawyer, I know my rights.” April turned to another page. “Then you know that forging medical documents, taking out a policy using your wife’s information, and reporting a non-existent death isn’t exactly an administrative mix-up.”
The pregnant woman started to cry. “You told me you were already divorced.” I let out a laugh.
I couldn’t help it. “How funny. He told me he was stuck at work.” Alex closed his eyes.
“Valerie, please.” “Don’t say my name.”
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