The afternoon is waning as I sit at my desk, staring out of the window at the sprawl of downtown Seattle. In the distance, the Space Needle rises high, the point of it lost in the clouds, the structure appearing to pierce the overcast sky.

It's a cold and dreary day in Seattle, which is fine. It actually suits my mood perfectly. I have a thousand emails that I need to return and other business to attend to, but I can't stop staring at the email on the computer screen in front of me. I reread the words I had read a thousand times already and still can’t believe it.

I scroll down the page, already knowing what I'd find and not wanting to see it again. Yet, unable to stop myself from looking anyway, I continue on. Attached to the bottom of the email is a photograph of her. She is dressed in black lingerie that I've never seen before. The kind of lingerie she used to wear for me early on. Black stockings, heels, and black, lacy panties with a matching bra.

The kind of outfit I haven't seen her wear in ages.

The worst thing is that this is only one of the dozens, maybe even hundreds, of emails and photographs that I discovered, dating back several years. My father always used to tell me that I shouldn’t open doors I’m not ready to walk through. This is one of those times that I wish I would have listened to his advice.

How could I have been so blind…so stupid? How could I have not seen this coming? I've racked my brain over and over the last few weeks, trying to see what I had missed along the way. What signs had I ignored?

The phone on my desk buzzes, and I let out a long breath, annoyed. Not that I'm doing anything important at the moment – I'm too pissed to focus on the work I should be doing – but I didn't want my brooding interrupted. Feeling a flash of irritation, I punch the button on the speakerphone.

“Yes, Alice?” I snap.

“Sir, there's a Mr. Adam McMurtry in the lobby to see you?” she says. “He doesn't have an appointment, but –”

“No, that's fine,” I say. “Send him in.”

“Right away, sir.”

I walk over to the sideboard in the office and pour some scotch into two tumblers. Carrying them back over to the sitting area in my office, I set one glass down on the table and take a seat on the couch, holding my own glass, staring down into the amber liquid. A moment later, the door to my office opened and Adam stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him.

He crosses the room and sits down on the small loveseat across from me, setting his satchel beside him. Adam picks up his drink and swirls it around in the glass, looking at it appreciatively for a moment before taking a long swallow.

“I always love doing work for you,” he says.

“Why is that?”

“Not only do you pay well,” he says, “but you have the best taste in liquor.”

I shrug. “It's what I grew up with,” I reply. “My father was a frugal son of a bitch, but there were certain things he did not skimp on.”

Adam lets out a long breath and leans back on the loveseat. I can tell by the look on his face that I am not going to like what he has to say. But, I already knew that I wouldn't. I knew it the moment I stumbled onto the trove of emails and photos. In light of that, Adam's work was superfluous. But, I hired him before I found the hidden email account.

Adam is a private investigator. He mostly handles insurance fraud and other business-related cases, preferring to stay out of domestic affairs. Not that I blame him for not wanting to deal with messy divorces and the like. In his place, I sure as hell wouldn't want to either.

But, he's a professional. He is discreet, and he does his job well. He's worth the money. And because I've worked with him a number of times in the past, mostly to vet clients and whatnot, I always feel comfortable using his services. I've just never needed him to look into something concerning my personal life before now.

Which makes this awkward for me. I'm not one who typically airs my dirty laundry, preferring to deal with things behind closed doors. Venting my personal life to the world would reflect poorly on my company, and so, I prefer to keep my matters private.

But I've never dealt with something like this before. So, when I suspected that Brittany was having an affair, I talked to Adam about it. I asked him to look into it and see what he could find. Part of me – well, most of me – was hoping that he'd come back and say that I was just being paranoid. That he had found nothing, and Brittany was what she appeared to be – the perfect wife.

Then I found them. I was having trouble with my own laptop at home, so I grabbed her tablet to check my emails. When I pulled up the email program, I had intended to log out of her account and into mine, but the subject line of a few of her emails caught my eye. Titles such as Hey Sexy and Fuck Me 2nite? stood out like flashing neon beacons among the other more mundane subject lines.

I knew I shouldn't have done it. I should have just closed the email program and pretended that I never saw it. But, I couldn't. I forced myself to read all the emails, even finding a folder marked “Travis” that contained many more. The emails were all sexual in nature. Dirty talk. Plans to get together and the details of what they were going to do once they met up.

My heart sank deeper with each email I read and every photograph I saw.

Having long suspected that Brittany was seeing somebody on the side, I hired Adam to look into it a few weeks before I found those emails.

“I'm guessing by the look on your face that you know what I'm going to tell you,” Adam says.

“Yeah, I do,” I say. “Turns out, your investigation was redundant.”

“What do you mean?”

I filled him in on the details of the emails and photographs I'd found. He listens and when I'd finished, he whistles low.

“Damn,” he says. “I'm really sorry to hear that, Liam.”

“Not nearly as sorry as I am,” I say. “But, thanks.”

“There is something you're not aware of though,” he says.

“What's that?”

“Based on some emails I found, Brittany and Travis were going to try to steal your company out from under you with the intent of selling it and making a fortune for themselves,” he said. “And if they couldn't accomplish that, they were going to siphon off millions. Bleed you dry financially. Then go live out their lives in Bora Bora or another exotic place like that.”

“Wow. That's ambitious,” I reply dryly. “They're quite the criminal masterminds, aren't they?”

Adam shrugs. “They apparently like to think they are.”

I lean back on the couch and take a drink, my mind spinning. I don't speak for a long moment, absorbing everything that I already knew and what Adam had just told me. And although I'm profoundly hurt by it all, there is a strong current of anger – a dark and steadfast anger – coursing through me as well.

I have been a good and faithful husband to her for almost ten years. I've had plenty of chances to cheat with gorgeous women, but every single time the opportunity had presented itself, I declined. Why? Because I love my wife. I've spent almost a decade trying to be the best husband that I can be. Providing for her. Catering to her every whim and desire. Ever since we got married, Brittany has lived a pampered life, wanting for nothing. It's a life that I've been more than happy to work hard for.

But now to find out that not only was she having an affair, but was plotting to steal my company and bleed me dry? I honestly don't know how to feel about it. I'm stunned, and more than anything, angry.

“So, what are you going to do?” Adam asks me.

I take another drink and shake my head. “Honestly? At this point, I don't have the first clue.”

“Yeah, I can't even begin to imagine,” he says. “Not that it's any of my business, but do you have a solid prenup? Something that protects you in case of divorce or what have you?”

I nod. “Yeah, I do,” I say. “It gives her a pretty generous amount of alimony.”

“If I were you,” Adam says, “I'd talk to my lawyer before you do anything. Lay it all out and see if there's any way that you can void it. What she did is wrong. She shouldn't get that kind of a parting gift. Not after something like this. Assuming that you plan on divorcing her, that is.”

“I don't see a scenario that doesn't involve divorce,” I say. “I won't ever be able to trust her again.”

“Talk to your lawyer,” Adam says. “Before you do anything. Before she knows you found out. If you tip her off and she figures out you're moving against her, she could do something stupid. Better to protect yourself.”

I nod again. “Probably the best way to go,” I say. “Thanks, Adam.”

“No sweat,” he replies. “I'm just sorry that it came down like this.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”