He picked it up before she could reach it and stepped away.
“Don’t touch me,” he said quietly.
“You have spent three weeks trying to provoke a reaction from me.
Now you can listen to what you said when you thought nobody was paying attention.”
“You recorded me without permission!”
“I recorded a conversation that was left on my own voicemail.
The original message is still there, with its date and time.”
Kayla’s face flushed scarlet.
I barely heard them.
My attention was fixed on the document Andrew had placed before her.
At the top was a date from four days before Kayla had arrived at our house.
Beneath it was a list of transactions, account numbers partially obscured, and a name I recognized.
Mine.
“What is this?”
I asked.
Andrew turned toward me, and the anger in his face softened into something more painful.
“It’s why I didn’t want to confront her before I understood what was happening.”
