“You copied Chloe’s key.”
“No.”
“Then explain.”
Walter stood.
“She gave me access once when Samuel was out of town.”
“For what?”
“To repair the bathroom cabinet.”
“And you copied it.”
He looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
I almost laughed.
For years, I had criticized Chloe for boundaries.
Meanwhile, Walter and I had both secretly copied keys to our son’s apartment.
The hypocrisy should have embarrassed me then.
It did later.
At that moment, rage drowned everything.
I asked,
“How many times have you brought women here?”
Walter flinched.
“One.”
“Camille?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
He said nothing.
“Walter.”
“Six.”
I stared.
“Six times.”
He nodded.
I wanted to slap him.
I did not.
Instead, I asked something else.
“Why here?”
He looked confused.
“What?”
“You own a car.”
“You have money.”
“You travel.”
“Why use Samuel’s apartment?”
Walter swallowed.
Then he said the words that turned betrayal into something darker.
“Because no one watches Samuel’s building.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
He looked away.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
“You said no one watches this building.”
“Who watches you?”
“Margaret.”
“Who?”
He sat again.
His shoulders dropped.
Then he said,
“The company.”
