My Husband Tried Buying His Mistress A $200k Diamond Necklace—Until His Black Card Declined Three Times And My Process Server Walked In

The lead transit officer didn't look at the glittering glass displays.

His eyes locked onto Liam's disheveled suit and Julian's open legal docket.

"Is there an issue here, Mr. Sterling?" the officer asked, addressing the store director.

"Payment failure, Officer," the director answered in clipped, aristocratic tones. "And a potential corporate embezzlement dispute currently unfolding on our sales floor. We require both parties to vacate the salon."

Chloe immediately backed toward the private viewing lounge, clutching her designer handbag like a shield.

"I’m just an employee," Chloe stammered, her voice dropping two octaves into frantic terror. "I had nothing to do with the card authorization."

Liam whipped around, glaring at her with venomous disbelief.

"You picked out the damn stone, Chloe!" Liam snarled, stepping into her space. "You insisted on the D-flawless four-carat setting!"

"Because you told me you owned the fund, Liam!" she fired back, her manicured finger pointing inches from his nose. "You told me your wife was an absentee trust-fund baby who signed whatever documents you put in front of her!"

"Keep your voices down," the officer ordered, resting his palm on his utility belt. "Sir, step away from the lady."

Julian lifted his phone, keeping the camera angle steady on Liam's sweating forehead.

"Mr. Vance," Julian said calmly, "I am also tasked with serving an emergency writ of corporate replevin. You are required to surrender all company property currently on your person."

"What company property?!" Liam shouted, throwing his hands wide. "I'm wearing my own clothes!"

"Your titanium executive entry fob to 30 Rock," Julian answered without missing a beat. "Your corporate-issued encrypted Blackphone. And the keys to the company-leased Maybach currently sitting in the commercial loading zone outside."

Liam let out a wild, barking laugh that bounced off the vaulted ceiling.

"You want my car keys? On Fifth Avenue? You expect me to walk out of here on foot like a common criminal?"

"The tow truck is already backing up to your bumper, Mr. Vance," Julian noted, glancing casually at his watch.

Liam turned toward the boutique's street-facing window, his face draining of whatever color remained.

Through the plate glass, a heavy-duty flatbed tow truck was lowering its hydraulic lift directly under the rear tires of his obsidian-black Maybach.