I'm angry, I said. Honestly, I'm very angry, but I'm trying to channel it into something constructive instead of destructive. Well, you're doing a remarkable job. I hope you find peace with all of this. I rode the elevator down 14 floors, walked through the lobby past employees who might have known about Rachel and Marcus, who might have covered for them, who might have watched my marriage dissolve in real time while pretending ignorance.
Outside, the November air felt sharp and clean. I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, letting it clear my head, trying to process what I just done. I'd potentially cost Rachel her job, her career, the financial independence she'd fought so hard for. I waited to feel guilty, waited for remorse to hit me, for second thoughts to creep in. But all I felt was tired, and maybe underneath that, the smallest flicker of satisfaction.
My phone buzzed, a text from an unknown number. This is Marcus. We need to talk now. Meet me at the coffee shop on 5th. I stared at the message, debated ignoring it, then decided why not.
One more conversation, one more chance to hear him try to explain the inexplicable. I texted back 30 minutes. Marcus was already there when I arrived, sitting at a corner table with the two cups of coffee going cold in front of him. He looked terrible, unshaven, rumpled, like he'd slept in his car. His leg was bouncing under the table, nervous energy radiating off him in waves.
"Thanks for coming," he said as I sat down. You have 20 minutes talk. HR called me in yesterday, asked me questions about Rachel, about our relationship, about work trips and client billing. They're investigating us, James. They're looking at time sheet records and expense reports.
And he ran his hands through his hair. Did you talk to them? I answered their questions honestly. You gave them evidence. Security footage, credit card receipts.
You're trying to get us fired. I'm trying to get divorced. What your employer does with information about your ethics violations is their choice, not mine. Ethics violations? He laughed bitterly.
That's what you're calling it? We fell in love, James. That's not a violation. That's You fell in love on company time. You build personal hours as client work.
You used office resources to conduct an affair. That's not romance, Marcus. That's fraud. He slumped in his chair. Rachel is going to lose her job.
They basically told her that yesterday. And I'll probably lose mine, too. We'll both be blacklisted in the industry, unable to get references, starting over from nothing. Consequences, I said simply. For what?