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I felt terrible for Dave but terrified for my family and friends. There was always a chance the self-appointed morality police in the form of media gossip mongers would land in or around our den of iniquity, and now that seemed inevitable, or at least likely.
While we ate breakfast, Victor was on the phone arranging a team of lawyers to support Gabriella with Dave’s criminal case. I was pleased to hear him say, spare no expense at least twice. He also sent a car and bodyguards to Dave’s house, collecting his family before the shitstorm arrived at their front door.
When my husband got off the phone, he looked calm and smiled as though enjoying the storm. I watched him pace around the kitchen and dining area, muttering to himself while deep in thought.
“I don’t understand why you look so happy, Victor.”
“I don’t feel any pressure.”