“The administrator confessed six weeks ago,” I said.
“In exchange for a reduced sentence, he gave investigators the altered files, the bank transfers, and the messages you sent him.
I haven’t been spying on you, Weston.
I’ve been cooperating with the district attorney.”
Two hospital security officers had appeared at the far end of the hall.
They didn’t approach.
They waited, exactly as they’d been asked to.
Delphine began to cry, and even her tears were a strategy — the same soft, helpless crying that had convinced a mediation room I was the villain.
“Larissa, I was scared.
Weston said you’d take everything.”