Case File #047 The Flowers Delivery
Thinking of you. A cheating husband story.
Insider Access Audio found below. (Everyone has Insider Access for first three Case Files.)
Welcome to the Chronicles and pull your window shades shut.
“Stop!”
I’m already through the gate. The arm’s going up. The guard is on the phone, yelling at me through the window, waving his hand like he’s trying to flag down a helicopter.
Uh, no.
I keep driving.
Let me back up. (Not literally.)
Montgomery County is full of rich people. BMW-driving, well-educated, high-earning rich people who’ve spent their entire lives learning that rules are suggestions. Not all of them, sure. But enough that you notice the pattern.
And marriage? Four years in, I’m still in love. My subjects? Often married 20-25 years. He goes to work every day where someone younger and closer tells him how great he is. She raises the three kids: lacrosse, cheerleading, shuttling them between private schools and doctors appointments and parties at Congressional Country Club off River Road.
Then one day after the kids have moved out, maybe not the same day, they wake up and ask “Who is this person?” Sad really.
She’s reviewing their taxes one lonely evening and notices something weird.
Mortgage interest deduction. For an address she doesn’t recognize.
A condo. Three miles from their house. In that fuzzy area between Bethesda and Rockville.
Next thing I know, she’s hired an attorney who’s hired my boss who’s hired me to deliver a quarter-inch-thick envelope to her soon-to-be-ex-husband.
But not today.
Today, I’m tasked with confirming who’s living in that condo. Specifically, getting a name. Evidence of occupancy.
The building is one of those 8-10 story types with a guard gate at the entrance. Great.
Good thing I’m young, drive a crappy car, and by default I don’t dress all that nice. No one pays attention to me.
I stop by a florist. Pick up some gorgeous flowers. Write a generic card: “Thinking of you.”
Then I head to the condo.
At the guard gate, you know, the kind with the arm that goes up and down to remind you that you’re not good enough to enter without permission, I tell them I have a flower delivery for unit 327.
“Flowers? Everyone loves flowers.”
The guard makes a call. I’m told where to park. It’s a bit of a drive once I’m inside the gate. Not like my apartment complex at all. And the cars are all European, like that’s the norm.
I knock on the door. It opens almost immediately.
She’s attractive. Excited. Big grin. The kind of anticipation you only get when you think someone’s thinking about you.
“Flowers for you,” I say, holding out the clipboard. “Just need you to sign here.”
She signs eagerly. No hesitation. Her handwriting is neat, confident.
I thank her, hand over the flowers, and turn to leave.
No tip. Figures.
As soon as I’m in the hallway, I beat feet. It’s a long walk back to the parking lot, then the drive to the guard gate, then waiting for that arm to go up. If it goes up.
The guard recognizes me as I approach. Smiles. Asks if everything went all right.
“All good,” I say.
He hits the button. The arm starts to rise. The phone rings.
He answers it, still smiling at me, waving me through.
Then his face changes.
“Stop!”
I don’t.
Turns out, the woman was so excited about the flowers that she immediately called her man to thank him and profess her love.
He, knowing full well he hadn’t sent any flowers, immediately knew the jig was up.
And called the guard gate.
By the time I got back to the Rockville office, there was quite the flurry. Something about “false pretenses” and “unethical behavior.” That was fast. Lawyers talking to lawyers. It’s a foreign language.
Whatever. That was for my boss to handle.
I never said who the flowers were from.
Just: “Flowers. Please sign here. Thank you.”
What I Remember About That Day
The flowers were red roses—expensive ones, not grocery store junk.
The guard’s name was posted on a little plaque at the gate: “Security Officer: Dennis.”
The card said “Thinking of you” in my handwriting, no signature.
She was wearing a silk robe when she answered the door—burgundy with gold trim.
The condo building was called “Rock Creek Suites.”
I got a receipt from the florist and expensed it to the client: $47.50.
Your move: True? True(ish)? Fiction?
How to Play:
Drop your guesses in the comments (TRUE / TRUE(ish) / FICTION for each)
First person to get all five correct wins bragging rights
Stop here and make your guess in the comments before scrolling down. Once you see the reveal, you can’t unring that bell.
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Insider Access subscribers SEE BELOW to get the full audio breakdown—including the behind-the-scenes on what I cut from the story, how I decided which clues to use, and what really happened when that guard yelled “Stop!” Spoiler: I kept driving.
A Chris Writes, LLC Publication
Not legal advice / not professional guidance / do not imitate tactics
Fictionalized/composite/altered details + no identification intended
© 2026 Chris Writes, LLC. All Rights Reserved.
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Audio of Case #047 The Flowers Delivery (Limited Open of Insider Access Feature)
Leave your guesses in the comments.
So. You thought you had it figured out.
Let’s see how you did.
Audio Reveal
CLUE #1: The flowers were red roses—expensive ones, not grocery store junk.
TRUE.
Red roses mean love. White roses mean friendship. Or so I’ve been told. I wanted her to assume they were from her man. And frankly, red roses in a vase with baby’s breath mixed in is stunningly impressive.
Worth every penny of the client’s money.
CLUE #2: The guard’s name was posted on a little plaque at the gate: “Security Officer: Dennis.”
FICTION.
Like I can remember a security officer’s name that far back. I think I can kinda remember his face. But really now, it has to be fiction. I don’t even remember if there was a name tag or plate.
The hyper-specific detail—”Security Officer: Dennis”—was designed to sound real. That’s the game. Names on plaques feel official. Memorable. But this one? I made it up.
CLUE #3: The card said “Thinking of you” in my handwriting, no signature.
TRUE(ish).
Well, I’m at least 99% sure. Memories can get fuzzy. But what else would I have written?
Generic. Vague. Just enough to make her think someone was thinking about her. Which, technically, I was, just not in the way she hoped.
CLUE #4: She was wearing a silk robe when she answered the door. Burgundy with gold trim.
FICTION.
I do remember what she was wearing. But for privacy and liability reasons, I’ll hold that to myself.
The burgundy silk robe with gold trim? That level of detail sounds like I’m painting a vivid picture for you. And I am. But it’s not her robe. And those colors? A nod to the then Washington Redskins and their colors. It’s a fiction designed to make the scene feel real.
CLUE #5: The condo building was called “Rock Creek Suites.”
FICTION.
No idea. Can’t remember. Don’t care. Made it up. Even searched Google to make sure there isn’t a place called that, just to make sure I’m protecting privacy.
The name sounds plausible for Montgomery County, right? Generic enough to be real. Fancy enough to fit the story. But nope. Total fabrication.
CLUE #6: I got a receipt from the florist and expensed it to the client: $47.50.
FICTION.
I do know I paid for the roses and submitted a receipt when I got back to the office. But I do not remember the total.
Oh, by the way, as continually broke as I was back then I’m sure I got reimbursed that day, but I simply cannot remember. I couldn’t use a credit card back then because, well, after I maxed it out and tried to use it (combined with late payments) the credit card company did the smart thing and had a merchant confiscate it at a Blockbuster.
That’s a true and whole other story.
But $47.50? Complete guess. The specificity makes it believable, though, doesn’t it?
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A Chris Writes, LLC Publication
Not legal advice / not professional guidance / do not imitate tactics
Fictionalized/composite/altered details + no identification intended
Read full legalese here
© 2026 Chris Writes, LLC. All Rights Reserved
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I don’t socialize. But I do get that people paying the bills deserve answers. The reports say one thing but maybe you need more: what wasn’t written, details that were not disclosed or what were the emotions experienced by everyone involved.
That’s the debrief. We can talk Case Files, Off the Records, etc. You are the client. You ask me.
I believe the red roses and amount from that year.
I don’t think you would remember the robe color.
I can’t remember all the other things, but I think they were true.
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