Chapter 6
Someone had recovered a credential that should have been dead.
Evan used the word “deliberate.”
That bothered me more than “sophisticated.”
Sophisticated could be curiosity.
Deliberate meant intention.
At 2:30 that afternoon, Brynn finally called.
I watched the screen until the final ring.
Then I answered.
“Hello.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
She sounded almost disappointed when she realized I wasn’t crying.
“So you are alive.”
“I’m working.”
“You saw the picture.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Brynn laughed softly.
The sound was familiar.
I had heard it at birthdays, beaches, college bars, funerals, Christmas dinners.
For the first time, it sounded like something I had never actually understood.
“You don’t have anything to say?”
“I’m deciding what deserves a response.”
“Oh, Laurel.”
There it was.
The little note of pity.
She had always been good at pity.
“You don’t have to act strong with me.”
I almost admired her confidence.
“You’re the one who sent the picture, Brynn.”
“I thought you deserved to know.”
“You could have told me.”
“I did.”
“You posed for it.”
Silence.
For the first time since the conversation began, she had nothing prepared.
Then she recovered.
“Nathan and I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
I looked at the security report open on my desk.
Eight months.
Forty-three accesses.
I wondered which part she claimed had happened accidentally.
“How long?”
She exhaled.
“Does that matter?”
“Yes.”
“Six months.”
I wrote it down.
Not because I believed her.
Because liars sometimes become useful when you document the version they choose first.
“Does Nathan love you?”
Another pause.
“I think that’s something you should ask him.”
“You sent me the picture.”
Her voice sharpened slightly.
“And you’re acting like you don’t care.”
That sentence told me more than anything else she had said.
She needed me to care visibly.
I leaned back in my chair.
“I care.”
“Then why aren’t you angry?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”
“Come on, Laurel. Yell at me. Tell me I’m horrible. Tell me I ruined your life.”
I almost smiled.
“Would that make you feel better?”
The line went quiet.
I could hear traffic on her end.
She was in a car.
Then she said, “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make people feel like they’re beneath you.”
I had known Brynn for fifteen years.
I had never heard her say that before.
“Is that what you think?”
“You built your little company, bought your big house, married the safe husband, and somehow everything always worked out for you.”
There was so much resentment in her voice that I forgot to breathe.
This wasn’t six months old.
This was ancient.
I thought about college.
About the jobs I got and she didn’t.
About my wedding.
About the years when she introduced me as “my brilliant friend Laurel” and smiled while saying it.
Maybe envy could wear admiration for a very long time.
“Is that why you slept with Nathan?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She laughed again, but there was less confidence in it.
“Maybe I just got tired of watching you have everything.”
There it was.
Not love.
Not an accident.
Ownership.
I looked through the glass wall of my office at the employees working outside.
People who had given years of their lives to something Brynn apparently considered another item on my shelf.
“You should probably go,” she said suddenly.
“Why?”
“I’m sure you have attorneys to call.”
My chest tightened.
Why attorneys?
May you like
I hadn’t mentioned divorce.
I hadn’t mentioned the company.
