Proof is an elastic concept. In a divorce, for instance, proof of infidelity is not as difficult as some seem to believe. Just 51%. Showing that the erring spouse has had consensual sex with another person, during the marriage, and without the consent of the spouse.
You don't need video or photographs. You don't need proof beyond a reasonable doubt, or by clear and convincing evidence. Just 51%. And the evidence can all be circumstantial. In our state, it couldn't only be from one source. There had to be confirmation. Not too hard. A motel clerk, say. Or a co-worker.
My wife Jenna did not understand that. Neither did her boyfriend Dave. Both of them are employed by James, Inc., a broker and financial firm. They worked mid-level accounts - both of them.
On the other hand, I'm an attorney. Trent Homer. (Thank God I never wanted to be a sports official.) I didn't want a divorce, but who knew?
So, when I watched my wife at her company holiday party, I videoed some of what I saw. Enough so the fact finder in court could get a flavor of their behavior. She and David were a couple. They danced. They ate together. They socialized with the others - as a couple.
Jenna and I had been married twenty-two years, since we were twenty-one. A summer wedding after graduation. Then she put me through law school with her work for James, Inc. At the time of the party, our two children were both in the local public high school. Kara was a senior, and Peter a junior. They were both doing well, headed to university.
Jenna was not expecting me to be at the holiday party. I had never really been comfortable at social events put on by her firm. To put it bluntly, the finance guys were almost all assholes. They were mostly very well off and thought that the money made them better than anyone else. Jenna was one of the few women who worked with these guys. But I never liked socializing with them, and over the years I had slowly withdrawn from those events. Often Jenna had also declined. But she wanted to go to this party.
She told me that I was invited. She left an invitation on the table. However, I told her that, as much as I'd love to go, I had a meeting in Pittsburgh and had to be away that weekend. I did pocket my invitation, though. I did not have a meeting, nor was I actually headed to Pittsburgh when I drove away that Saturday morning.
I didn't like fooling her, lying to her. But I felt it necessary. Since before Thanksgiving Jenna had been acting differently toward me. The kids had noticed and asked me about it. She was cool, no smiles, infrequent hugs. It had worried me and made me wonder what could be causing it. In the first week of December, I sat down with her in the kitchen, after the kids retired to their rooms.
I asked, "Is there something wrong? Something I should know?"
The question seemed to take her by surprise. She diverted her eyes for a moment.
She said, "No. Why are you asking?"
"For some weeks you've been diffident, even cold to me. We sleep in the same bed, eat dinner together, but don't talk much. So?"
"I'm sorry, Trent. It's work. Things are intense now. It's why I've been later coming home. I'll do better, I promise."
She had been later. Normally she arrived at six. But for some time, it had been seven, maybe three days out of a week. It made dinner more difficult.
I said, "Well, how long do you anticipate this might last? Because, you know, the kids have noticed as well."
"I'm sure it'll let up soon, Trent. I'll make an effort all around."
And she did make an effort. For a week or so. We had a nice time in bed twice. But only a nice time. Not like before. I wasn't sure she'd come the first time. The second time I made sure. But after that, it was back to late arrivals, and no sex.
I did some research. That was because I thought she might be seeing someone else - at work. Work would be the only place. Since it had all started maybe six weeks before, I looked for new hires or transfers at her office.
There were two. Madeline Brooks and David Bolling. Both transfers. I knew Jenna. I started with David Bolling. He'd transferred in from San Francisco, arriving in early October. A deeper dive revealed that he had a family - wife and two teenagers - living in Frisco. No record of a divorce or separation. Yet, here he was. And there they were. A dual-costal family.
I'm self-employed, with a law office near the courthouse in D.C. I do some criminal, some work for insurance companies on auto cases, and some contracts. I had two investigators who worked for me regularly, on a case-by-case basis. I called Meg Dillon and asked her to come in. We met after hours on a Monday. Meg is young, twenty-five. But she's steady and reliable, capable of being somewhere without anyone seeing her. She's also quite a looker when she isn't disappearing. Dark blond, pretty, medium build and height. Sometimes she flirted with me, but nothing serious.
When she sat in the chair across from my desk, I explained that I had some vaguely unsettled feelings about Jenna. I also explained about David Bolling. I had a photo of him from his company bio. I gave her a retainer and asked her to get on it.
As she left, she turned to me and smiled. She had a great smile. She said, "If she's fucking up, I'm gonna give you solace." And she was gone.
I took that seriously, because of how it happened. Flirting was one thing. This? Something else. I can't say it didn't excite me. But no way I was doing anything to disrupt the family unless it had already been disrupted.
I'm not usually surprised by women flirting. It happens to me. I'm six feet, with blond hair, brown eyes, and a muscular build. I don't have to fight off women. But I have had to discourage some over the years.
After the meeting with Meg, I togged up and ran home. The pizza delivery guy was just pulling up as I got there. But no Jenna. The kids and I ate. Jenna rolled in at seven-ten. She ate left over pizza and had wine. There was very little talk.
The next morning, I was out early and ran back to work. I had a shower there. Then I had a meeting on a fairly big insurance case, involving some possible arson of a large luxury home. The claim was big, and the circumstances suspect. I had a big retainer, and I was making some progress. The county arson officer - and there was only one - told me that the fire was electrical, and that it seemed to have started in the kitchen. He was undecided about the entire thing, since there had been no detectable accelerant. There had been an anomaly in the wiring of both the stove and refrigerator. I reported all that to the insurance investigator. I told him that, as of yet, we had no basis to deny the claim, but did have one to reserve payment.
All of that took the morning. I ate lunch at my desk while I wrote it up and entered the time in the billing program. I got a text from Meg. Jenna was at lunch with David Bolling. There was a photo of them entering Sal's Italian. Holding hands.
Later, I got another text showing them leaving. They went back to work. I ran home at five and ordered Mexican. I showered and picked it up. Jenna rolled in at six-fifty and we all ate together. I had a conversation with Meg later. She reported that Jenna and David left their office together but drove off in separate cars with no obvious hanky-panky.
That night I made an effort to initiate sex. I was shut down. But nicely, insofar as that was possible.
Meg had a further report about other lunches, and one stop at a bar after they left work at five pm. Jenna got home at seven-fifteen that day. I concluded that Jenna and David were a thing but had not progressed to actual sex. Yet, I couldn't be sure of that. She sure wasn't getting a lot from me.
The holiday party was to be held at a ballroom in the local Hilton. Dinner, dancing, awards. I drove off for 'Pittsburgh' Saturday morning. I went to the office. I had some research done on the Hilton by a former client of mine. I'd gotten her off on a computer fraud charge. Lilly Grace reported that David Bolling had reserved a room at the Hilton for Saturday evening. Room 417. When I learned that, I made an assumption. One that needed to be checked out in person.
So, when I arrived at the venue, I looked for Jenna's car. It was a Lexus sedan, and it was parked in the hotel garage - on the fourth floor near the door that led to the fourth-floor rooms. I used my key to look inside. In the trunk was an overnight case. I opened it. Inside - on top - was a deep blue nightie. It was a short one. My birthday gift to her. Under it was a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and a make-up kit.
I gave it some thought. I reached into an outside pocket of the case and found a key card. I walked over to the door to the rooms. It was locked. The key card unlocked it. I went inside and used the card on room 417. It unlocked the door. I looked inside and saw a small suitcase on the rack by the bed. Nothing else showed that anyone had occupied the room. Yet.
I gave all this some thought. The fact that Jenna's case was in her car and not in the room appeared to indicate that the couple was likely trying to hide the liaison. When they left the party, Dave would use the internal elevator. Jenna would use the garage elevator and go in from the door I'd just used.
I pocketed the key card and went down to the party. I gave the hostess my invitation and slipped into a dark corner by a small bar with no bar tender. And I watched.
Jenna looked great. She wore a small black dress and pearls. Nice shiny shoes. David had a tux with a blue cummerbund. He was maybe five-ten, 170 pounds, with light brown hair and blue eyes. I suppose he could have been called handsome. He and Jenna danced well together. But they did not openly grope each other or put on a show.
The dance music stopped before midnight. I slipped outside and took the garage elevator to the fourth floor. I waited near a van parked thirty feet from Jenna's Lexus. She arrived at twelve-ten. She opened the trunk - not the driver's door. She took out the case. I saw her fishing around in the outside pocket.
"Shit. Damn!" She seemed upset. She looked inside the case. No dice. She tried the door. Locked. I'd seen all I needed to see.
I stepped out from behind the van and stepped to her. She turned and saw me, gasped.
I held up the card. "Looking for this?"
She was struck dumb. I'd heard of that, but this was the first time I'd ever seen it happen. It lasted quite some time, with us staring at each other.
I tossed the card onto the floor at her feet. I turned to walk away toward the elevator.
Jenna spoke, then. "Trent. Trent. Stop, please. I won't go inside."
At least she was smart enough not to stammer out lies or excuses.
I said, "Too late to save the situation. Fuck you." I pressed the elevator button.
She jogged up to me. She said, "I'm driving home, now. I can give you a ride."
I remained silent. The elevator door opened. I stepped in.
So did she.
I turned my back on her, but she spoke anyway.
