“Stella, call them off — Walter’s fine, it was low blood sugar. The whole hallway is staring at us.”

“I can’t cancel a dispatched medical unit,” I said coldly. “They’re legally required to evaluate the patient.” And I hung up.

The paramedics came in, found Walter’s vitals normal, and reprimanded the two of them for abusing emergency services — right in front of the building staff.

Chapter 8 — The Trap

That afternoon I met Harrison at a quiet lounge. He slid an iPad across the table — a high-resolution photo taken at a resort in Maui. There was my husband in a floral shirt, beside Emma, a diamond-encrusted Rolex on her wrist.

“He booked the oceanfront villa at five thousand a night on the platinum card,” Harrison said. “The whole trip is pushing eighty thousand dollars.”

“How did you get the card data?”