The red wine hit my face before I could even process Garrett’s hand moving.

A side door opened, and Chloe Montgomery stepped into the flashbulb glare.

She looked nothing like the glamorous, carefree mistress featured on her curated social media feeds. Dressed in a modest navy dress, her eyes red from crying, she walked to the podium accompanied by her federal defense attorney.

Chloe had realized within ten minutes of the FBI knocking on her Miami door that Garrett had set her up as his primary financial shield. The shell corporations holding the stolen funds were all registered under her personal tax identification number. Garrett had positioned her to take the fall while he planned his escape with the Gabriel Vance passport.

Once Marcus Cole offered her a path to federal cooperation and immunity in exchange for turning state’s witness, Chloe had folded instantly.

Chloe took the microphone, her voice trembling but audible across the crowded room.

"Everything Claire Vance has presented today is the truth," Chloe said, staring straight into the cameras. "Three years ago, Vivian Sterling approached me and offered to pay my mother’s medical debts if I agreed to enter into a staged relationship with Garrett Sterling."

Reporters frantically shouted questions, but Chloe kept reading from her prepared statement.

"Vivian instructed me on how to manipulate Garrett’s schedule, how to sign documents under shadow corporate names, and how to hold assets that Garrett had embezzled from Vance Logistics. Garrett repeatedly told me that Claire was mentally unstable and that once the Vance trust was drained, he would divorce her and marry me."

Chloe looked over at me, shame and regret plain across her face.

"I learned this weekend that Garrett was preparing to abandon both of us. He kept offshore accounts and a counterfeit passport that I knew nothing about. He used me, just as he used his wife. I am fully cooperating with the Southern District of New York and the Department of Justice."

The lobby erupted into pandemonium. Reporters surged forward, shouting questions, but I simply stepped back from the podium, nodded to Marcus, and walked toward the private elevators.