"Go ahead, Troy. Cry, scream, hit me again if you want," Archie sneered. "I slept with your wife. What are you gonna do about it?"
I stared at him momentarily, calm as ever, then slowly closed the gift box lid.
The smile on my face didn't waver.
"Branson, thanks for the gift," I said coolly. "I really like it."
Then I turned and walked up the steps to the stage. My steps were slow and deliberate, and every move was measured. I picked up the mic with a steady grip and looked out at the sea of guests.
"Tonight," I said, my voice echoing through the hall, "Mr. Branson gave me a very special present. It seems only fair that I return the favor. I hope he likes mine just as much."
The velvet curtains behind me parted with a soft, theatrical sweep.
The LED screen illuminated brightly, displaying a large, crystal-clear image that covered the entire display—impossible to miss and even more memorable.
It was Archie, naked and tangled with a French woman in what was clearly a hotel room.
