Christine and I had met at a charity dinner in Franklin. She had spilled sparkling water across a donor list, and I had helped her gather the papers while pretending not to notice how embarrassed she was.
Our first conversation had lasted forty minutes.
Our second had lasted until sunrise.
“The picture was taken from across the street,” she said. “Dad believes you arranged our meeting.”
“I didn’t.”
“The report says I was selected because I could provide access to him.”
I crouched in front of her.
“Look at me. I had never heard your name before that night.”
Her eyes filled again.
“I want to believe you.”
“You know me.”
“I know the man you became. I don’t know who you were before.”
The truth in her words silenced me.
She reached into her coat and removed a small digital recorder.
“I took this from the study.”
