The wrench slipped from my greasy fingers when my daughter’s voice cut through the evening air like a rusty blade. “He’s pathetic, Mom. Just leave him already. Curtis actually takes you places that matter.
”
I was under the hood of my beat-up Dodge in our driveway, the streetlights casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt. The engine had been making that grinding noise again—the kind that tells you your vehicle is slowly dying, just like everything else in your life. Some families play Monopoly on Friday nights. Mine apparently plays Russian roulette with my pride.
My wife Amber’s laugh drifted through the screen door, sharp and cold. “Tess, keep your voice down. He might hear you. ”
“So what if he does?
Everyone already knows about Curtis anyway. Mrs. Henderson next door asked me yesterday if you were getting divorced yet. ”
I wiped my hands on an old rag, my jaw clenching.
Twenty years of marriage, and this is how I found out my wife’s affair had become neighborhood entertainment. The worst part? I wasn’t even surprised. The late-night phone calls, the new clothes, the sudden interest in yoga classes that somehow required full makeup—it all made sense now.
I was about to head inside when headlights swept across our lawn. A silver BMW pulled into my driveway like it owned the place. Curtis Brennan stepped out, adjusting his expensive suit jacket. He was everything I wasn’t—smooth, entitled, the kind of guy who’d never had grease under his fingernails or worried about making rent.
He walked right up to me, not even bothering with pleasantries. “Your wife’s coming with me tonight, Nick. It’s not really up for discussion anymore. ”
The audacity hit me like a physical blow.
This wasn’t some guilty confession or awkward confrontation. This was a declaration of ownership. “Excuse me? ”
Curtis smiled, the kind of smile that probably worked great at his car dealership when he was selling overpriced sedans to desperate families.
“Amber and I have been seeing each other for months. She’s ready to move on—and frankly, so should you. ”
The screen door creaked open and Amber stepped onto the porch. She was wearing the black dress I’d bought her for our anniversary last year.
The one she claimed made her look fat. Apparently, it only made her look fat for me. “Curtis, I told you I’d meet you at the restaurant,” she said. But her tone was more annoyed than angry, like he was a puppy who’d jumped on the furniture, not a man announcing his affair in my own driveway.
“I thought we should be honest,” Curtis replied. “Nick deserves to know where things stand. ”
Where things stand? Like I was a business partner being bought out, not a husband whose world was imploding.
“Get off my property,” I said quietly. Curtis laughed. Actually laughed. “Come on, Nick.
Let’s be adults about this. You can’t seriously think you can compete with what I offer her. ”
That’s when something inside me snapped. Not broke—snapped.
Like a rubber band stretched too far, releasing all its tension at once. I walked into the house, past Amber who was suddenly looking nervous, past Tess who was recording everything on her phone like it was content for her social media. I went straight to the bedroom closet, to the lock box I kept on the top shelf. The .
357 Magnum had been my father’s. He’d taught me to shoot when I was twelve, out at the old quarry where teenagers now went to drink and pretend they were invincible. “A tool isn’t a toy, Nick,” he’d said. “It’s a responsibility.
You only pull it out when you’re prepared for everything to change. ”
Everything was already changing. I walked back outside, the weight of the revolver solid in my hand. Curtis was leaning against his BMW, checking his Rolex like my marriage was making him late for dinner.
“You have exactly two seconds to get in your car and drive away,” I said, raising the tool. Curtis’s face went white. “Jesus Christ, Nick, put that thing down. You’re insane.
Amber, call the police. ”
I aimed at the ground between us and pulled the trigger. The fire shot cracked through the neighborhood like thunder, echoing off the houses and sending Mrs. Henderson’s cat sprinting across three lawns.
Curtis stumbled backward, and I noticed a dark stain spreading across the front of his expensive pants. He’d wet himself. The big-shot car dealer who thought he could waltz into my life and take whatever he wanted had just pissed himself in my driveway. “Next time I won’t aim low,” I said.
Curtis scrambled into his BMW, his hands shaking so badly he could barely get the key in the ignition. Amber ran after him, her heels clicking on the asphalt. “Wait, Curtis, wait for me. ”
She threw a desperate look back at the house, at me standing there with the tool still in my hand, and made her choice.
She got in the passenger seat. I watched them drive away, tail lights disappearing around the corner like the last twenty years of my life. Then I turned to Tess, who was still filming from the porch. “If either of you comes back here,” I called loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, “I’ll be waiting.
”
The door slammed behind me, leaving me alone in a house that suddenly felt like a tomb. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air, mixing with the lingering scent of Amber’s perfume. I sat down at the kitchen table, still holding the tool, and wondered what the hell I was supposed to do next. Outside, I could hear sirens in the distance, getting closer.
The police sergeant who showed up was Danny Morrison, a guy I’d gone to high school with. He took one look at the scene—the bullet hole in the asphalt, Curtis’s abandoned dignity, and me sitting calmly on my front steps—and shook his head. “Warning shot? ”
“Warning shot,” I confirmed.
“Anybody hurt? ”
“Just some pride and a pair of pants. ”
Danny wrote it up as a domestic disturbance. No charges filed, since I’d fired into the ground on my own property and nobody had been threatened with bodily damage, technically.
The legal system has a funny way of defining threats. “Nick,” Danny said as he was leaving, “maybe next time try a conversation first. ”
I did. It lasted about thirty seconds.
After he left, I sat in my empty house and took inventory. The refrigerator hummed, the clocked ticked. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. These were the sounds of my new life.
Quiet, hollow, and utterly alone. The first few days passed in a blur of bitter coffee and bad decisions. I gave away most of Amber’s clothes to Goodwill, keeping only a few items that I threw into Riverside Pond like offerings to whatever god handles failed marriages. Her makeup collection went in the trash.
Her books—mostly self-help garbage about finding your authentic self—went to the library. It was therapeutic in a way, erasing the physical evidence of twenty years. But it also felt like performing surgery on myself with a butter knife. On Thursday, three motorcycles roared into my driveway.
The lead rider pulled off his helmet, revealing a familiar face covered in tattoos and bad decisions. “Uncle Nick! ” Tyler grinned, showing off a gold tooth I was pretty sure hadn’t been there at Christmas. “Heard you had some excitement.
”
Tyler was my brother’s kid, twenty-five years old and professionally unemployed. He ran with a motorcycle club that called themselves the Iron Ravens, though they were more like iron pigeons—loud, messy, and constantly looking for scraps. “What do you want, Tyler? ”
“Curtis Brennan hired us to come have a talk with you.
Paid us five hundred bucks to explain how things are going to be. ”
I looked at the other two bikers, both wearing leather vests covered in patches and attitude. “And how are things going to be? ”
Tyler’s grin widened.
“Well, that’s the funny thing. See, Curtis didn’t know you were family when he hired us. And family trumps cash every time. ”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a roll of bills.
“We’re returning his money with interest. Told him if he wanted to hire muscle, he should probably check the family tree first. ”
“You didn’t have to do that. ”
“Sure I did.
Besides, any man who makes another man piss himself in his own driveway deserves respect. ”
Tyler laughed, a sound like gravel in a blender. “We heard about that all over town. Curtis has been laying low ever since.
”
The other bikers—Tank and Razor, names that probably looked great on their parole paperwork—nodded approvingly. “So, what’s the plan, Uncle Nick? You want us to pay Curtis a visit? Maybe explain some things to him?
”
I was tempted. God knows I was tempted. But I had something better in mind. “Not yet.
But stick around town for a while. I might need some witnesses. ”
That weekend I drove past the Riverside Motel—a dive that rented rooms by the hour and asked no questions about marital status. Curtis’s BMW was parked outside room twelve, right next to Amber’s Honda.
I called Tyler. “Bring your camera,” I said. Twenty minutes later we were set up across the street like the world’s most dysfunctional surveillance team. Tyler had brought some high-tech equipment that I didn’t ask about.
And Tank had a laptop that could apparently stream video to social media platforms in real time. “You sure about this? ” Tyler asked. “Once this goes online, there’s no taking it back.
”
“They made their choice public in my driveway. I’m just returning the favor. ”
We waited. At 3:47 p.
m. , Curtis emerged from the room followed by Amber. They were laughing about something, completely oblivious to the fact that their afternoon delight was about to become evening entertainment. “Rolling,” Tank said quietly.
The video quality was surprisingly good. You could clearly see Curtis’s face, Amber’s distinctive red hair, the motel room door with its peeling paint and broken number. They kissed goodbye like teenagers, all hands and desperate passion. “Dirty Laundry live,” Tyler announced to his followers.
“Broadcasting from scenic Riverside Motel, where love goes to die and marriages go to get buried. ”
The viewer count started climbing immediately. Fifty, then a hundred, then five hundred. The comment section exploded with recognition, gossip, and the kind of moral outrage that only comes from people watching someone else’s life fall apart.
Curtis got in his BMW and drove away. Amber stood there for a moment, checking her phone, probably texting him about their next rendezvous. She had no idea that half the town was watching her adjust her skirt and fix her hair. “Stream’s over,” Tank announced.
“But it’s been saved to about fifteen different platforms. ”
I felt a cold satisfaction settle in my chest. It wasn’t revenge yet. That would come later.
This was just the opening act. That night my phone started ringing. Friends, neighbors, people I hadn’t talked to in years. Word was spreading faster than a wildfire in August.
The last call came at midnight. It was Amber. “How could you? ” she screamed into the phone.
“How could you do something so cruel? ”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said calmly. “I just watched you do it. ”
“You ruined everything.
Curtis is furious. His wife saw the video. ”
“Curtis has a wife? ” I asked.
“Huh. Guess you’re not as special as you thought. ”
The line went dead. I poured myself a whiskey and sat on my front porch, looking out at the neighborhood where I’d lived for two decades.
Tomorrow, the real work would begin. Monday morning arrived with all the subtlety of a brick through a window. I was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper when my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. “You think you’re smart?
We’ll see about that. ” — C. Curtis
Apparently, his wife hadn’t taken the video well, and he was looking to share the misery. I was actually impressed that he’d managed to spell everything correctly.
I had just finished my second cup when Tyler’s motorcycle rumbled into the driveway. He was alone this time, wearing a grin that suggested trouble was about to become my new hobby. “Uncle Nick, you need to see this. ”
He handed me his phone, showing Curtis’s Facebook page.
There was a long post about psychotic ex-husbands and dangerous individuals who threaten innocent people. According to Curtis’s version of events, I was an unstable veteran—I’d never served—with anger management issues, probably accurate—who had threatened to eliminate him and his girlfriend—creative interpretation. “He’s trying to get ahead of the story,” Tyler explained, “make himself look like the sufferer. ”
“How’s that working out for him?
”
Tyler scrolled down to the comments. They were brutal. Apparently, being caught on video at a cheap motel doesn’t generate much sympathy, even when you’re claiming to be the sufferer. “People aren’t buying it.
But he’s got some supporters—mostly other cheating husbands, looks like. ”
I handed the phone back. “Time for phase two. ”
Curtis owned Brennan Motors, a used car lot on the south side of town that specialized in selling overpriced vehicles to people with bad credit and worse judgment.
It was the kind of place that advertised “no credit, no problem” and meant “yes, credit problems, yes, our problem now. ”
I drove over there in my old Dodge, the engine making that grinding noise that sounded like my marriage dying in slow motion. The lot was full of cars that had seen better decades, all sporting bright yellow price tags that probably violated several consumer protection laws. Curtis was in his office, visible through the big glass windows that faced the lot.
He was on the phone, gesturing wildly with his free hand. Probably talking to a lawyer about restraining orders and maltreatment charges. I parked right in front of his office and got out slowly, making sure he could see me coming. His face went pale when he spotted me through the window.
He said something quick into the phone and hung up. The office door had a little bell that chimed when I opened it. Curtis was standing behind his desk like it was a fortress, his hands shaking slightly. “You can’t be here,” he said.
“I’ll call the police. ”
“This is a public business,” I replied, looking around at the cheap furniture and motivational posters. “I’m a potential customer. ”
“What do you want?
”
I sat down in the chair across from his desk, taking my time to get comfortable. “I want to buy a car. Something reliable. Something that won’t break down when I need it most.
”
Curtis’s eye twitched. “We don’t have anything in your price range. ”
“You don’t know my price range. ”
“Look, Nick, I’m sorry about how things happened.
But Amber and I—we’re in love. Real love. Something you probably wouldn’t understand. ”
I leaned back in the chair.
“Real love? Is that what you call afternoon motels and lying to your wife? ”
“My marriage was over long before I met Amber. ”
“Funny.
Your wife seemed pretty surprised by that video. ”
Curtis’s face flushed red. “You had no right to film us. That was a private moment.
”
“In a public parking lot, at a motel, in broad daylight? ” I stood up slowly. “Nothing private about it. ”
“What do you want from me?
”
I walked over to the window that looked out on the car lot. Curtis’s pride and joy was parked right outside—a restored 1969 Camaro SS, cherry red with racing stripes. He’d spent two years working on that car, according to the local newspaper article that had featured him as businessman of the month last year. “Nice car,” I said.
“Don’t even think about it. ”
I turned back to him. “I’m not going to touch your car, Curtis. I’m not going to threaten you or hurt you or do anything that might get me arrested.
I’m just going to make sure everyone in this town knows exactly what kind of man you are. ”
“They already know. You made sure of that with your little video stunt. ”
“That was just the beginning.
”
I walked toward the door, then stopped and looked back. “Oh, and Curtis? You might want to invest in some adult diapers. I have a feeling you’re going to need them.
”
His face went white again, and I could see the memory of our last encounter playing behind his eyes. The fear, the humiliation, the warm wetness spreading down his legs. I left him standing there and walked back to my truck. As I was getting in, I noticed a small crowd had gathered at the edge of the lot.
Word was getting around that Nick Morrison was paying a visit to Curtis Brennan, and people were curious to see what would happen next. I gave them a little wave and drove away, leaving Curtis to explain to his customers why he looked like he’d seen a ghost. That afternoon I paid a visit to Amber’s law firm. Hartwell and Associates occupied the top three floors of the tallest building downtown—the kind of place where justice was measured in billable hours and moral flexibility was a job requirement.
I’d been there before, of course. Christmas parties, office picnics, the occasional dinner with Amber’s colleagues. I knew the layout, knew the people, knew exactly where to find what I was looking for. The receptionist, a young woman named Jessica who’d always been friendly to me, looked up nervously when I walked in.
“Hi, Mr. Morrison. Are you here to see Amber? ”
“Actually, I’m here to see Mr.
Hartwell. Is he available? ”
“I—I’ll check. ”
She picked up the phone, whispering urgently into it.
A few minutes later, Richard Hartwell emerged from his office. He was a tall, thin man with silver hair and the kind of smile that probably cost extra. “Nick, what brings you by? ”
“I need to talk to you about Amber.
”
His smile faltered slightly. “Perhaps we should discuss this in my office. ”
We walked past the cubicles where junior associates toiled over contracts and depositions. I could feel their eyes following us, sense the whispered conversations that would start the moment we were out of earshot.
Hartwell’s office was impressive. Leather furniture, expensive art, windows that offered a commanding view of the city. It was the kind of room designed to intimidate clients and impress judges. “What can I do for you, Nick?
”
I pulled out my phone and showed him the video from the motel. “I thought you should know that one of your employees is conducting her personal business during work hours. ”
Hartwell watched the video with the expression of a man who’d seen every possible way that human beings could disappoint each other. When it finished, he handed the phone back without comment.
“When was this taken? ”
“Last Friday, 2:30 in the afternoon. I checked Amber’s timesheet. She was supposed to be in depositions.
”
“I see. ”
“There’s more. ”
I showed him screenshots of text messages between Amber and Curtis planning their meetings, discussing their relationship. I’d gotten them from Tyler, who’d gotten them from someone who’d gotten them from someone else.
The digital age has made privacy an illusion. Hartwell studied the messages carefully. “How did you obtain these? ”
“Does it matter?
They’re real. ”
He was quiet for a long moment, staring out the window at the city below. “Nick, I understand you’re hurt. Betrayal is painful, especially from someone you love.
But I can’t make personnel decisions based on personal disputes. ”
“This isn’t personal. This is professional. Amber has been lying to you, stealing time from the firm, conducting an affair during work hours.
If she’ll lie to her husband, what makes you think she won’t lie to you? ”
Another long silence. Then Hartwell pressed a button on his desk phone. “Jessica, please ask Amber to come to my office immediately.
”
Five minutes later, Amber walked in looking confident and professional in her navy blue suit. She saw me sitting there and stopped dead in her tracks. “What’s he doing here? ”
“Sit down, Amber,” Hartwell said quietly.
She sat but kept her eyes on me like I was a snake that might strike at any moment. Hartwell showed her the video and the text messages. I watched her face as the reality of the situation sank in. The confidence drained away, replaced by something that looked like panic.
“Richard, I can explain. ”
“I’m sure you can. But I don’t think I want to hear it. ”
He stood up, walked around his desk, and opened the door.
“Clear out your office. Security will escort you out. ”
“You can’t fire me. I have contracts.
Clients. ”
“Had contracts. Had clients. Past tense.
” Hartwell’s voice was ice cold. “Your termination is effective immediately. ”
Amber looked at me with pure hatred. “This is all your fault.
”
“No,” I said quietly. “This is all your choice. ”
Security arrived—two large men in uniforms who’d probably seen this scene played out dozens of times before. They escorted Amber to her office while she gathered her personal belongings, then walked her to the elevator while half the firm watched in fascination.
I stayed in Hartwell’s office for a few more minutes, making small talk about the weather and the local sports teams. When I finally left, I could feel the weight of dozens of stares following me to the elevator. The word would be all over town by dinner time. Amber Morrison caught cheating, fired from her job, publicly humiliated.
And this was just the beginning. My phone buzzed as I was walking to my truck. A text from Tess. “I hate you.
”
I typed back: “Join the club. Your mother’s the president. ”
She didn’t respond, but I knew she was probably posting about it on every social media platform she could access. Good.
The more people who knew the truth, the better. I drove home through streets that suddenly felt different, like I was seeing my town through new eyes. This was my world now—not the comfortable married life I’d known for twenty years, but something raw, more honest, a place where actions had consequences and secrets couldn’t stay buried forever. The real revenge was just getting started.
Two weeks after Amber lost her job, I hired a private investigator. His name was Ray Sullivan, a former cop who’d traded his badge for a camera and a flexible relationship with privacy laws. He worked out of a cramped office above a pizza shop, surrounded by filing cabinets and the lingering smell of pepperoni. “What exactly are you looking for?
” Ray asked, leaning back in a chair that squeaked like a dying mouse. “Everything,” I said. “Financial records, business dealings, personal history. I want to know what Curtis Brennan had for breakfast and who he owes money to.
”
Ray nodded slowly. “This is about the affair. ”
“This is about justice. ”
“Justice costs extra.
”
I paid him a retainer that represented most of my savings account—money I’d been putting aside for a vacation that would never happen, a retirement that suddenly seemed very far away. But some investments are worth making. Ray delivered his report three days later. It was a thick folder full of photocopied documents, surveillance photos, and the kind of information that could ruin a man’s life if it fell into the wrong hands.
Curtis Brennan, it turned out, was not the successful businessman he pretended to be. His car lot was mortgaged to the hilt. He owed back taxes to three different government agencies. And his business practices included selling cars with rolled-back odometers and forged inspection certificates.
More interesting was his personal life. Curtis had been married four times, divorced three times, and was currently separated from wife number four—while carrying on affairs with at least two other women besides Amber. He had a gambling problem, a drinking problem, and a habit of borrowing money from people who charged interest rates that would make a loan shark blush. “This guy’s a walking disaster,” Ray explained, spreading the documents across his desk.
“He’s one bad month away from losing everything. ”
“How bad? ”
“Bad enough that if someone were to, say, report his business practices to the state attorney general’s office, he’d probably be looking at criminal charges. ”
I studied the papers, feeling a cold satisfaction building in my chest.
“What about personal stuff? Family, friends, reputation? ”
Ray pulled out another folder. “His oldest daughter just got engaged.
Big wedding planned for next month. Very expensive, very public. Curtis is supposed to walk her down the aisle. ”
“Supposed to?
”
“Well, that depends on whether certain information about his recent activities becomes public knowledge. ”
I left Ray’s office with enough ammunition to destroy Curtis Brennan’s life several times over. But I wanted to be strategic about it. Random destruction was satisfying but ultimately pointless.
What I wanted was surgical precision. The opportunity came the following Friday at Tess’s school talent show. I hadn’t planned to go. My relationship with my daughter had been frosty since the divorce proceedings started.
But Tyler convinced me it would be good for my image. “You need to look like the stable parent,” he said. “The one who shows up, who cares about family. Makes Amber look even worse when she doesn’t show.
”
The school auditorium was packed with parents, grandparents, and siblings, all armed with smartphones and the kind of forced enthusiasm that comes with mandatory family events. I found a seat in the back, trying to be invisible. Tess was performing a dance routine with three of her friends, something involving a lot of spinning and what I assumed was supposed to be synchronized movement. She was actually quite good, though I might have been biased.
During intermission, I was standing in the lobby when I heard familiar voices behind me. I turned around to see Amber and Curtis standing near the refreshment table like they belonged there. Amber was wearing a new dress, something expensive that she definitely couldn’t afford on unemployment benefits. Curtis had his hand on the small of her back, a gesture of ownership that made my jaw clench.
“Nick. ” Amber’s voice was artificially bright, the tone she used when she was nervous. “I didn’t expect to see you here. ”
“It’s my daughter’s school,” I replied.
“Where else would I be? ”
Curtis stepped forward slightly, trying to look intimidating in his designer suit. “We’re not looking for trouble. ”
“Good.
Neither am I. ”
But trouble, as it turned out, was looking for us. A small crowd had gathered around us—parents and teachers who recognized the players in the town’s most entertaining drama. I could see phones being pulled out, cameras being activated.
“This is inappropriate,” Amber hissed. “This is Tess’s night. ”
“You’re right,” I said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “This is Tess’s night.
So maybe you should explain to everyone why you missed her last three school events because you were too busy screwing your boyfriend. ”
The crowd went dead silent. Even the kids stopped running around, sensing that the adults were about to do something interesting. “That’s not fair,” Amber protested.
“Fair? ” I laughed, a sound with no humor in it. “You want to talk about fair? Let’s talk about fair.
”
I pulled out my phone and opened the folder of documents Ray had given me. “Let’s talk about how fair it is that Curtis here has been lying to you about being separated from his wife. Let’s talk about how fair it is that he’s been seeing two other women while he’s been seeing you. ”
Curtis’s face went white.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. ”
“Really? Because I have photos, bank records, hotel receipts. ” I held up my phone so the crowd could see the screen.
“Should I share them with everyone? Make it a real family event? ”
“You fool,” Amber whispered. “No, Amber.
I’m the husband you cheated on. There’s a difference. ”
The crowd was pressing closer now, sensing they were witnessing something that would be talked about for years. I could see teachers trying to push through, probably to break up whatever was about to happen.
Curtis grabbed Amber’s arm. “We’re leaving. ”
“Good idea,” I called after them. “Give my regards to Mrs.
Brennan—the real Mrs. Brennan. ”
They pushed through the crowd toward the exit, leaving behind a buzz of excited whispers and the clicking of camera phones. I stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of dozens of stares, then walked back into the auditorium to watch the rest of my daughter’s performance.
She was magnificent in the second half, hitting every move perfectly, smiling like she meant it. When it was over, I stood and applauded with everyone else, proud of her talent and her resilience. Afterward, in the parking lot, she found me by my truck. “Why did you do that?
” she asked. Her voice was quiet, not angry like I’d expected. “Because they needed to hear the truth. ”
“Everyone’s going to be talking about this.
”
“They were already talking about it. Now at least they’re talking about the right things. ”
Tess was quiet for a long moment, staring at the ground. “Curtis has been lying to Mom about a lot of things.
”
“She really loves him. ”
“She thinks she does. There’s a difference. ”
Another silence, longer this time.
Then:
“Can I come home? ”
I felt something loosen in my chest, a knot I hadn’t realized was there. “Of course you can. It’s your home.
”
She got in the passenger seat of my truck, and we drove home together through streets that felt familiar again. The house was dark and empty, but it didn’t feel like a tomb anymore. It felt like a place where healing might be possible. That night, after Tess had gone to bed, I sat at the kitchen table with Ray’s folder spread out in front of me.
I had enough information to destroy Curtis completely, to expose every lie and ruin every relationship he’d built on deception. But I wanted more than just destruction. I wanted justice. And justice, I was learning, required patience.
My phone buzzed with a text from Tyler. “Heard about the school thing. Nice work. What’s next?
”
I typed back: “The grand finale. ”
It was time to end this once and for all.
