Peter turned to his wife, panic rising. “We need to talk. Somewhere private.”
“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.”