ra Wrig

er me, bringing me tea, rubbing my shoulders, whispering sweet reassurances. Each touch was a lie, each

the perfect strategist. My days were a blur of clandestine a

p was my

digital excavation. Katia Shepherd' s entire life was laid bare. Public records, social media accounts

e was Katia

uptcy. Video after video of her preening in expensive hotel rooms, flaunting designer bags I recog

Room 207, was

Cartier watch. "When your married man knows your worth," she' d captioned it, with a winking emoji

the text on the screen read. "He thinks he' s in charge, but we know who really runs the show." The com

playing my life and bragging a

ash my laptop, was a 'story time' clip. She sa

a sweet kid, but a little clueless. He thinks I' m the coolest thing since sliced bread." She

you think put that idea in his head? The best part is, the wifey has no idea. She'

urgically precise. I downloaded every video, every photo, every in

a client. I saw them celebrating his preliminary award nomination at a Michelin-star restaurant he' d claimed was

videos were the centerpiece of my plan, but I nee

guest list for the awards gala, I approached h

arty. We should really invite Jacob' s school counselor, Ms. Shepherd. Sh

nd, his back going rigid. It was

e carefully neutral. "I don' t know, A

a family man. It reflects well on us. Plus," I added, delivering the masterstroke, "we should invite her parents, to

suspicion. He was the great Anthony Ortiz, the community-minded family man. How co

ex." His smile was strained, a tight, painful grimace. "

ife. He had no idea he was helping me load the

in his shoulders. He was cornered. And he didn't even kn

list was set. The evidence was compiled. The stage was