The Receipt of Betrayal
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Summary
It was three in the morning when I stared at the string of unfamiliar charges on my phone, my fingertips ice-cold.
$2,980. The Grand Washington Hotel, Executive Suite. The charge was from last night at 8 PM.
My husband, Ethan, is a homicide detective. He was supposed to be on the night shift.
My knuckles turned white as I clutched the phone.
I sent him a text. "Just saw the credit card statement. A hotel charge from last night?"
He replied instantly.
"The department had us on a last-minute overtime detail. They put us up in a hotel. Forgot to tell you."
