Page 261 of The Wright Man

"No," he said smoothly, voice calm and lethal. "Ms. Reed is ready to be done. With this. With you. And frankly, she's asked me to be merciful by requesting mediation instead of proceeding straight to trial. You should be thanking her."

Gavin scoffed, already opening his mouth to respond, but Andre didn't give him the space.

"And anything else you want to say?" Andre continued, voice even and cool. "You can direct it to me. Or better yet—don't speak at all until the mediator arrives. Wouldn't want you saying anything else you'll regret."

Gavin's face shifted—barely. The smirk faltered just a breath, and he leaned forward.

"You think you're gonna intimidate me?"

Andre's mouth curved into something that could almost pass for amusement, but didn't quite get there. "No. I think I'm going to beat you. Thoroughly. And that's if you keep your mouth shut. If you don't, I'm going to enjoy myself."

Gavin scoffed. "Oh, I bet you will. Another Wright in her bed, huh? That's how she works, right?"

Andre didn't flinch. "Say that again."

The silence that followed was so loud I could hear the HVAC kick on.

"Wait a damn minute," Langston—Gavin's lawyer—finally piped up. His voice wavered as he narrowed his eyes at Andre. "I know you. You were on the Whitaker case last year."

Andre didn't deny it. He simply adjusted his tie.

Langston snorted. "This isn't criminal defense. This is family law. Whole different skillset."

Andre smiled. Just barely.

"And yet, I'm still better at it than you." His tone never changed. "I read your casework. Sloppy pleadings. Weak precedent. You went to University of Maryland, right?"

Langston flushed.

"We all have our burdens," Andre added, cool as ice.

I had to look down at my notes to hide my smirk. These Wright men and their surgical-grade shade.

When the mediator arrived—a composed woman with a poker face that could've won tournaments—Andre placed his folder on the table with the deliberate calm of a man who had already won.

"I'd like to present some evidence," he said simply. "Starting with this."

He laid the first page flat without ceremony. A printed screenshot. Text messages. Gavin's number at the top.

Gavin's lawyer leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Where did you get those?"

"Ms. Reed's phone records," Andre replied evenly. "No warrant required. She owns the account."

He kept going. Methodically. No drama. Just evidence, laid out in a line like dominoes.

His phone. Her phone. Messages between Gavin and Langston. Messages between Gavin and Jasmine that predated the marriage by a year. Texts that told a very different story than the one Gavin had been trying to spin.

Gavin's expression was blank. Controlled. But his jaw twitched.

Then Andre turned to the next exhibit — one page, slid to the center with a single finger. "Financial records. Business account. Mr. Riddle made no contributions. He did, however, use her business line of credit twice without her knowledge."

I stayed perfectly still. I knew. I'd known for a while. But hearing it said out loud, in a room where Gavin had to sit in it — that was different. That was something.

Andre reached into his folder again and placed the next sheet flat on the table like he was putting a period at the end of a very long sentence.

More texts. Different category entirely.

I sat very still. The room felt very small.