“Of course,” Daphne replied. She glanced toward the woman in the navy blazer. “My office is ready, correct.”
The woman nodded. “Whenever you are.”
Inside the office, the noise of the lobby faded, replaced by the quiet authority of the space. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the city, and architectural models lined the shelves with careful precision.
Peter looked around, disoriented. “What is this place.”
“My office,” Daphne said, taking a seat behind the desk. “I am the majority owner of this hotel. As of last Tuesday.”
He stared at her. “You own this hotel.”
“Yes,” she replied. “Along with two others in the Midwest.”
The woman in the blazer took a seat across from Peter and opened a folder. “My name is Monica Feld. I represent Mrs Langley in all legal matters.”
Peter ran a hand through his hair. “How long have you known.”
“About you and Kira,” Daphne said, “a little over three months. About everything else, longer.”
He laughed weakly. “If you knew, why did you not say anything.”
“Because reacting is not the same as preparing,” she replied. “I needed clarity. I needed documentation. I needed to understand exactly what my life looked like without the version of you I thought I married.”
Monica slid a folder across the desk. “This contains financial records, correspondence, hotel invoices, and witness statements. It is comprehensive.”
Peter did not open it. “You hired someone to investigate me.”
“Yes,” Daphne said without hesitation. “And I reviewed every detail of our shared finances. The house is in my name. The investment accounts originated from funds I inherited. The car you drive is registered to me. You have benefited from my stability while undermining it.”
His voice dropped. “So this is it.”
“This is accountability,” she replied. “Tomorrow you will be served divorce papers. You will retain your personal assets and assume responsibility for your debts. I will retain my properties and business interests.”
“And everyone,” he asked quietly. “Are you going to tell everyone.”
Daphne stood and walked toward the window. “I do not need to tell anyone. Stories like this circulate on their own. Hotels have long memories.”
When he left the office, the lobby felt colder, the light harsher. No one met his eyes.