Evelyn’s smile vanished instantly. My father set down his napkin, his brow dropping into a scowl. The recording kept playing.
“Of course I hate her. I barely touch her anymore. Just wait. I’ll divorce her, and then I’ll marry you.”
Then the unmistakable sound of a kiss, followed by the giggle of his twenty-four-year-old junior associate, Chloe.
Julian went whiter than the china. He shot to his feet, knocking his chair backward with a crash. “Nora! Shut that off! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
My father stood next, his chair scraping violently against the floor. “Julian… what the hell was that?”
“It’s a setup!” Julian stammered, eyes darting like a trapped animal. “It’s an AI voice generator! Nora’s unhinged — she’s suffering from postpartum psychosis!”
I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. I simply reached into the leather portfolio on the sideboard and pulled out three folders.
The first, I set in front of Evelyn. “This is your son’s itemized phone bill from the past six months — over four thousand late-night texts to Chloe’s personal line.”
The second, in front of my father. “This is the surveillance log from a private investigator, detailing their afternoon meetups at the Grand Hyatt downtown — paid for out of our joint emergency savings.”
And the third, I placed directly on Julian’s empty pie plate.
