My best friend called me at 2 AM, begging me to come to see my wife in ER room. But I was in bed with my mistress. “I’m stuck in a storm. Sign the medical consent for me,” I lied
“If your wife dies tonight, at least have the decency to answer your phone, you coward.” Those were the first words I heard at 2:17 a.m. I was lying in a luxury suite in Miami Beach, the kind of room where floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over black water glittering beneath the moon, and the sheets…
