Page 11 of Ella Gets the D
Charles snaps, “Mrs. Hudson.”
I avert my gaze from him so I don’t fall into temptation, hop over the table, and choke what little soul he has left out of him with his tie. The nerve of this man to break up our family, look at me withbend-overeyes, and treat Grier with such disdain.
How is it possible to be so evil and clueless at the same time? How did I not see this side of him sooner?
“My apologies.” Grier smiles at his glare. The prick has no idea he’s a fly in her web. That’s the problem with pride: it comes before the fall. “Ella purchased these for your home a week before your entanglement.”
Mr. Richardson interjects. “My client does not acknowledge the alleged affair, Mrs. Santiago. Only that he had a colleague with him in the house as he retrieved the passport he left at home before their flight to a business conference.”
Bull.
Grier laughs at the awful attempt to explain away Charles’s infidelity. He might be able to expense receipts from the trip, but this crock of shit won’t fly here.
Grier and I share a knowing look, one that starts withGotand ends withhis ass.
In the two weeks I’ve known her, Grier has been a powerhouse. She’s a witty, no-nonsense mama you don’t want as an enemy. She puts a hand to her mouth to catch her breath. “I needed that laugh. Let’s move on, though the justification for Mr. Hudson’s colleague in the home is questionable at best. She did not have to enter the house—or their bedroom, for that matter—while he retrieved his passport. And, of course, it doesn’t explain why your client picked up said colleague instead of meeting her at the airport.”
Grier slides a folder to the middle of the table from a stack next to her computer. “Jeanine from HR was kind enough to pull the Mt. Corbel Health System travel policy. As Chief Financial Officer, you have a guaranteed car service to drive you to and from the airport.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Wonder why your client opted to drive his own vehicle to pick up this particular woman.”
Charles clenches his jaw and looks away.
She switches the screen back to the purchase history. “As I was saying, my client purchased five of these cameras for the house. Can you confirm the order from your account, Mr. Hudson?”
“Yes,” he says in a sharp tone.
“Did you see these around your home?”
He nods. “I helped El put them up to make sure they worked. She wanted them for the new sitter she hired.”
“Yes.” The corners of Grier’s mouth curl. “That’s right. Did you download the app that comes with this technology, Mr. Hudson?”
“I did not.”
“Is there a point to these questions?” Mr. Richardson asks. “He is not on trial, and I will advise him against further interrogation outside of a court of law.”
“Right.” She claps the back of the chair and grins wider.
Grier paces the conference room with a gleam in her eye and glances between the men with her hands behind her back. She looks like Tegan Price fromHow to Get Away With Murder, and I can only imagine the power she wields inside a courtroom. It’s direct yet subtle, the way her brow lifts and her eyes stare through her target. She’s a shark circling her next meal, and they don’t even know it.
“The app was a standard feature,” she says after a brief pause. “What’s interesting is the motion tracking these cameras provide.” She stops in front of her laptop and leans in for the next part, the one neither Charles nor his lawyer anticipated. “Imagine my surprise to find that Ella signed up for the one-month free trial of cloud storage. Did you know it records video history? It defaults to motion detection. Ella forgot about that feature until I took a look at it.” She switches the screen to the cloud storage site. “The videos are here.”
Mr. Richardson eyes Charles, whose brows draw together. His suit doesn’t hide the sweat marks puddling through overpriced fabric. He clears his throat but stays silent.
“I made sure to get to the appropriate time stamp. The two cameras downstairs pick up Charles and his coworker when they enter the mudroom.”
In the video, Charles pulls her into his chest. She giggles as he grinds his pelvis into her and leans down to whisper in her ear. Her heels come off at the bottom of the steps. Charles loosens his tie, his forceful grip as evident as the desire in his eyes. Cameras in Jackson and Haile’s rooms catch the pair when they’re in the hall. Things take a turn once they reach our bedroom.
This isn’t the first time I’ve watched the video, but it doesn’t sting any less. Seeing the two of them traipse through my house—past my children’s room—without a single care has me ready to catch a case.
“Ella put the camera in your bedroom as a precaution for future sitters,” Grier says to Charles. “She didn’t hide it, so my guess is you already knew but didn’t bank on it recording.” She turns to the TV and raises the volume.
Charles pushes the woman onto the bed with enough force for her to bounce. He removes his jacket and commands her to get on all fours. Without protection or foreplay, he hovers behind her, unzips his pants, and thrusts. He not only defiled our marriage but had no concern about my health, raw-dogging his mistress. I booked an appointment with my gynecologist faster than any worst-case scenario could play out in my mind. No STDs, thank God. I’ve never been so happy to have a three-month dry spell.
“That’s enough.” Mr. Richardson turns from the screen. He swallows hard and pinches his lips shut.
Grier chuckles. “Oh, this doesn’t last long.” She fast-forwards and stops when Charles pulls out and tosses his handkerchief ather. “Clean yourself up, we have to go,” he says in the video. His tone is cold, void of a lover’s caress. “You have five minutes.” With that, he walks out the bedroom.
What a gentleman.
