Husband's Mistress Wins "Best Homewrecker" Award

The hall turned dead silent as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

My husband, Fred Colson, froze with that fake smile still plastered on his face. Next to him, his secretary, Winnie Lane, still had a smug look on her perfectly made-up face. It instantly twisted into shock.

Fred was the first to react. He roared into the mic at me, "Raven, are you out of your mind? Get off the stage now!"

I ignored him and walked straight to the center of the stage. Behind me, the giant LED screen, which had been looping a slideshow of the company's glorious achievements, suddenly switched to different content.

It now showed a giant purchase order from Hawkins Hardware totaling five million dollars. Beside it was another order with the exact same items, but the total was only two million dollars.

I brought the mic to my lips. My voice rang out clearly through the banquet hall, "As everyone knows, our company's biggest project this year is the Starcrest Residences development in the south of the city.

"I hustled for three months for this project. I drank so much at client dinners that my stomach bled, just to pry this deal out of Mr. Wells' hands.

"The projected profit margin was 30%. But when the numbers were finalized, the profit was only 10%. I kept wondering where things went wrong."

I paused, letting my gaze sweep over the audience until it landed on the head of the purchasing department, Tom Brown. He was already starting to shake all over.

"Later, I found out someone had pulled something dirty in the purchasing process." I pointed at the screen. "This five-million-dollar order is what's on our company's books. This two-million-dollar one is the real invoice issued by Hawkins Hardware. So, whose pocket did the missing three million dollars end up in?"

The room exploded. Every gaze in the hall swung toward Tom.

With a loud thud, he slipped right off his chair onto the floor, sweating as if he'd just been dragged out of a river. "It wasn't me! It wasn't me, Mr. Colson!"

Fred's expression had turned ugly. He tried to rush onto the stage to grab the mic from me, but the two "security guards" I'd hired blocked him. They were tall and built like tanks—retired special forces I'd paid to be here. Fred couldn't get anywhere near me.

I went on, "Of course, this award isn't for Tom. He doesn't have the guts to do something like this."

The screen changed again. This time, it showed a high-resolution photo of a man, along with his bank account's transaction history.

The man in the picture was Winnie's cousin, Malcolm Lane, an unremarkable junior buyer in the purchasing department. Over the past six months, his account had mysteriously received three million dollars in unexplained deposits.

"This is Malcolm Lane, cousin of our dear Winnie. A year ago, he was still a small-town thug, lazing around back home with nothing to do. Thanks to his cousin's connections, he got himself a job in our purchasing department.

"After joining the company, he didn't learn much else, but he sure mastered his talent for taking kickbacks. These three million dollars are his outstanding contribution to shrinking our company's profits."

I looked straight at Malcolm, whose face had gone completely bloodless. "Congratulations, Mr. Lane. You've won our company's very first 'Best Office Snake Award.' The prize is a lovely set of handcuffs and a complimentary one-way ticket to prison. Please come up and accept your award."