Chapter 4

"He's dumping the wife who stuck by him through everything!" Janet continued. "What a scumbag!"

I pushed through the crowd. "Whitney, are you done?"

Whitney lunged at me and wrapped her arms around my legs.

"Honey, I'm sorry! I should've kept my mouth shut about the other women. Please don't divorce me! I'll do whatever you want. Just don't throw me out!"

She sounded so desperate, so devoted, that the employees around us began giving me suspicious looks.

I resisted the urge to kick her off.

"That's not what you said last night when you were out racing with Craig."

Her eyes shifted, but she quickly covered it with louder sobs.

"What are you talking about? All I do is stay home and cook and clean for you! You'll say anything to get rid of me so you can move your mistress in!"

"Exactly!" Janet cut in. "Whitney can't even ride an elevator without getting dizzy, and you expect us to believe she went racing up a mountain? If you're gonna lie, at least make it believable!"

I laughed and pulled out my phone. "You want proof?"

I played the video from the night before and held up the screen for everyone to see. There was Whitney in the GT-R's passenger seat, laughing as the car sped through the turns.

"Take a good look. This is my wife, who supposedly gets sick in an elevator, out in the middle of the night navigating for another man in an illegal street race."

The lobby went quiet. Employees exchanged glances, their sympathetic expressions giving way to disgust.

Whitney's sobs stopped abruptly, and she stared at the video, her face tightening with anger. Beside her, Janet froze with her phone still raised.

I looked down at Whitney. "You really gonna keep this up?"

She stood and brushed off her clothes. The pleading look disappeared, and she lifted her chin.

"Alright, Eric. Here's what I want. Craig's coming out of retirement and starting a new team. He needs two million. Give me the money, and I'll sign the divorce papers. You'll never hear from me again."

I laughed in disbelief. "Why would I give either of you a dime?"

Whitney leaned in and lowered her voice.

"Because your company's been cheating on its taxes.

"You didn't think I spent the last three years sitting around the house, did you? I made copies of those fraudulent contracts in your study safe a long time ago.

"Pay me, or I take them to the IRS. Your company goes under, and you spend the next few years in prison."

She stepped back and raised her voice.

"Come on, Eric. Two million dollars to stay out of prison sounds like a bargain to me."

I stared at her, too furious to speak. For three years, I shared a bed with this woman and never imagined she could turn on me like this.

"Whitney, that's blackmail."

She laughed. "Then call the cops. Let's see if they come after me or start looking into your taxes."

The lobby's glass doors swung open, and Craig strolled in wearing a racing suit. He walked straight to Whitney and slipped an arm around her waist.

"Why are you wasting your breath on him?"

He turned to me, daring me to object.

"Come on, Mr. Schmidt. Sometimes, you have to pay to make a problem go away.

"Whitney's going to be my lead navigator. Once we win the national championship, we'll call your two million a sponsorship. I'll even put your name on the car."

I looked from him to Whitney, my jaw tight.

"You want the money?"

I locked eyes with Craig.

"Then beat me on the track, if you've got the guts."