Dr. Reed did too.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Voss said, very softly, “Release to whom?”
“The attorney general’s office. Three journalists. The IRS criminal investigations division. A federal prosecutor I used to work with.” I breathed carefully. “And Grant.”
“Grant?”
“He gets a copy last.” I opened my eyes. “I wanted him to know exactly what destroyed him.”
Detective Voss looked at me for a long moment, and something like respect passed through her expression.
“What exactly is in those files?”
“His life,” I said. “The real one.”
By dawn, Grant Mercer was in custody for assault, but that was only the smallest door opening.
By eight fifteen, Detective Voss had a warrant for our house.
By eight forty, a technician recovered the blue tablet from the bottom drawer of my nightstand.
By nine, my dead man’s switch activated because my hands were too swollen to type.
