Clara started to cry. “Daniel, please—”
“Not now.”
Evan swallowed hard. “Look, we can talk about this—”
“We will,” I said. “Just not the way you think.”
Before either of them could move, headlights swept across the windows.
Then tires.
Then a car door slamming.
A moment later, the front door burst open.
A woman stepped in like a storm.
Not screaming.
Not crying.
Controlled.
Her eyes locked onto Evan.
“Get dressed,” she said.
That was it.
No drama. No breakdown.
Just judgment.
Evan looked like he might collapse.
“Rachel—”
“Now.”
He moved.
Clara stood frozen on the stairs, staring at the woman, realization dawning too late that this wasn’t just exposure—it was collapse.
Rachel turned to me.
“You called me,” she said.
“I did.”
She nodded once. “Good.”
Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a folder.
Thick. Organized.
Prepared.
“I’ve been documenting him for a year,” she said quietly. “Affairs. Abuse of position. Financial irregularities. I just didn’t know about her.”
She glanced at Clara, not with anger—but something colder.
Dismissal.
“I was waiting for proof that would hold in court,” Rachel continued. “Now I have it.”
I looked at the folder, then at her.
“And now?” I asked.