The words hit like a physical blow, but I kept my expression neutral. What else? She was drunk, talking loud. Said something about how you were so trusting you'd never suspect what she was really doing with her evenings. Rita paused.
I'm sorry, Nick. I thought about calling you, but it wasn't my place. I left Rita a $20 tip and walked back to my truck, my mind racing. Sierra wasn't just cheating. She was laughing about it, making jokes about how easy it was to fool me.
That afternoon, I started tracking her movements. Not with some high-tech spy equipment, just basic detective work. Credit card statements showed charges at restaurants I'd never been to on nights she claimed to be working. Her phone's location history, easily accessible through our shared family plan, showed regular stops at an address I didn't recognize. A quick online search revealed the address belonged to Tabitha Morrison, one of Sierra's yoga friends.
Tabitha lived in a mansion on the expensive side of town. The kind of place where people had too much money and too much time to meddle in other people's business. More importantly, Tabitha was known for hosting private parties for her social circle. The kind of parties where married people did things they wouldn't do at home. I called Sierra from my truck outside Tabitha's house, watching the windows for movement.
"Hey, honey," she answered, her voice artificially bright. "What's up? Just wanted to let you know I'll be working late tonight. The Henderson project is behind schedule. Oh, that's too bad.
I might have to work late, too. This client situation is getting worse. Through Tabitha's front window, I could see Sierra pacing in the living room, still talking to me on the phone. She was wearing the black dress she'd claimed was at the dry cleaner. "Well, don't wait up for me," I said.
"I might be really late." "Okay, honey. Love you. Love you, too." I hung up and settled in to wait. If Sierra thought she was playing games, it was time to show her what a real player looked like. At 10:30 that night, I watched Eli's Tesla pull into Tabitha's circular driveway.
He sat in the car for a moment, checking his reflection in the mirror, then walked to the front door like he owned the place. I'd spent the last hour studying the house's layout and security system. Tabitha was obsessed with smart home technology, the kind that could be controlled remotely if you knew what you were doing. Lucky for me, Alex was a computer science student who taught me a few tricks about wireless networks. Through the living room window, I could see Sierra and Eli together on Tabitha's white leather couch.
Sierra had changed into something more comfortable, a silk robe that left little to the imagination. They were drinking wine from Tabitha's expensive crystal glasses, laughing about something that made Sierra throw her head back in the way she used to laugh with me. I pulled out my phone and accessed Tabitha's home security app. The password was embarrassingly simple. Tabitha 123.
And within minutes, I had control of her alarm system. At exactly 11 p.m., I triggered every alarm in the house. The effect was immediate and beautiful. Lights flashed, sirens wailed, and I could see Sierra and Eli scrambling around inside like cockroaches when someone turns on the kitchen light. Sierra was trying to get dressed while Eli searched for his shoes.
Both of them panicking. Eli burst through the front door first, running for his car and his socks. I was waiting for him, leaning against his Tesla like I'd been there all evening. Going somewhere, Eli? He stopped short, his face cycling through confusion, recognition, and terror in the span of 3 seconds.
Nick, I can explain. I'm sure you can. But first, let's talk about your taste in underwear. I held up the black lace panties I'd found in Sierra's gym bag. Eli's face went pale.
You left these at my house last night, careless. Eli backed toward his car, fumbling for his keys. Look, man, it's not what you think. I stepped closer and he flinched. Good.
Fear was a language everyone understood. Here's what I think, Eli. I think you're a pathetic little man who gets off on screwing other men's wives. I think you drive a car you can't afford to impress women who are using you. And I think you're about to learn what happens when you mess with the wrong family.
I slapped him across the face, not hard enough to do real damage, but hard enough to leave a mark. His head snapped to the side, and when he looked back at me, there was genuine terror in his eyes. "Touch my wife again," I said quietly. "And you'll be scraping your teeth out of your seat cushions." Eli scrambled into his Tesla and peeled out of the driveway so fast he sideswiped Tabitha's mailbox. I took photos of the damage with my phone, already planning how to use it later.
Sierra appeared in the doorway, clutching her robe closed, her hair disheveled, and her makeup smeared. She looked like exactly what she was, a woman who'd been caught in the act. Nick, what are you doing here? Taking out the trash, I said, not looking at her. You might want to get dressed, unless you plan to drive home in Tabitha's bathrobe.
I walked back to my truck, leaving her standing there in the doorway. In the rearview mirror, I could see her frantically calling someone on her phone, probably Eli, trying to figure out how much I knew. The answer was simple. I knew everything, and now it was time to use that knowledge. Sierra was waiting for me when I got home, sitting at the kitchen table with her hands folded like she was conducting a business meeting.
She'd changed into jeans and a sweater, trying to look innocent and domestic. The effect was ruined by the guilt written all over her face. "We need to talk," she said. I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer, taking my time. Let her sweat.
About what? About tonight. About what you think you saw? I sat across from her, studying her face. Sierra was good at lying.
20 years of marriage had taught me that, but she was rattled. The confident woman who'd been laughing on Tabitha's couch was gone, replaced by someone scrambling for control. What I think I saw, Sierra, I have video footage of you and Eli in the gym sauna. I have credit card records of dinners you never told me about. I have your location data showing regular visits to Tabitha's house on nights you claim to be working.
Her face went white. You've been spying on me. I've been paying attention. There's a difference. She tried a different approach, leaning forward with tears in her eyes.
Nick, I know how this looks, but you're wrong about Eli and me. We're just friends. We work together. We talk about office stuff. I reached into my pocket and pulled out her black lace underwear, dropping them on the table between us.