Rothstein, for what it's worth, I'm sorry you're going through this. Workplace affairs create victims beyond just the spouses involved. They damage team dynamics, create liability for the company, and force colleagues into uncomfortable positions. I appreciate that. We'll be conducting our investigation over the next two weeks.
I can't tell you what the outcome will be, but I can tell you we take these matters seriously. If employees violate our ethics policy, especially if they commit time sheet fraud, there are consequences. I stood to leave, shook her hand. Thank you for your time, Mr. Rossstein.
She walked me to the door. I've been doing this job for 15 years. I've seen a lot of workplace affairs. Most of the betrayed spouses who come in here are angry, vengeful, looking to cause maximum damage. You're not like that.
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?
For being human? For making mistakes? For lying? For stealing company time? For creating a hostile work and environment where your colleagues had to cover for you?
I leaned forward. You want to know what really bothers me about this, Marcus? Not that you fell in love with my wife. Feelings happen. I get that.
What bothers me is how entitled you both are. How you act like the rules don't apply to you. Like you should be able to conduct an affair on your employer's dime and face no consequences because your feelings are special. That's not it is fair. You made choices.
Adult choices. Now you get adult consequences. That's how the world works. He stared at his coffee and I watched him realize that charm wouldn't work here. That I wasn't someone he could sweet talk or manipulate.
What do you want from me, James? An apology. I already gave you one graveling. I'll do it if that's what it takes. I don't want anything from you.
I wanted the truth, which I got. I wanted the affair documented, which it is. I wanted to make sure everyone knew what really happened, and now they do. There's nothing else you have that I need. Rachel said, "You're destroying her life out of spite. " Rachel destroyed her own life.
I'm just refusing to help her hide the wreckage. I stood up. Your 20 minutes are up. Don't contact me again. Wait.
He grabbed my arm and I looked down at his hand until he released it. Just one thing. The question you asked her about me having an illness. There really isn't one, is there? No.
So, so why? Because I wanted her to feel afraid. I wanted her to panic, to run to a doctor, to sit in a waiting room imagining worst case scenarios. I wanted her to experience a fraction of the fear I felt when I got tested for STDs because my wife had been sleeping with someone else without my knowledge. I met his eyes.
I wanted her to understand that actions have consequences beyond just the ones you intend. Understanding dawned on his face. That's that psychological warfare. That's karma. I walked out before he could respond.
Left him sitting there with his cold coffee and his crumbling future. The satisfaction I'd been waiting for finally arrived. Not a flood, just a trickle, but real. Marcus understood now. Understood that I wasn't going to be passive or forgiving or understanding.
Understood that there was a price for what he'd done, and I was going to make sure he paid it. My phone buzzed as I reached my car. Jennifer Ward, thank you for your cooperation today. Your information was very helpful. Then 30 seconds later, another text from an unknown number.
I opened it expecting more from Marcus, but it was Rachel. They're firing me. I hope you're happy. I hope destroying my career makes you feel better about your own failures. I read it twice, felt each word like a slap, then deleted the message without responding.