Receipts of Infidelity
At three in the morning, I stare at the unknown transaction record on my phone screen, my fingertips turning cold. The record is for a payment of 2980 dollars, made for an executive suite at the Wisteria. The time of payment was 8:00 pm last night.
My husband, Tristan Griffin, is a detective. He was on the night shift last night.
I clutch my phone, my knuckles turning white as I text Tristan, "I just saw your credit card bill for a hotel stay last night. What's up with that?"
His reply is instant. "Our team had to work overtime at the last minute, so they put us up at the hotel. I forgot to tell you about it."
I scan the text and sputter.
The Wisteria is located in the western region of the city, which is on the other end from where his squad is stationed.
I don't press him for more details and click on the bank app on my phone. Having found the vendor's address through the payment record, I sent it to my best friend, Rowena Sheffield, who works as a private detective.
She replies instantly with an "OK" emoji and follows up with, "Give me a second. I'll find out everything you want in a jiffy!"