I did not confront Marshall in a rage, because rage was what he knew how to handle, and I had decided to stop giving him anything he knew how to handle.
Instead I finished the folder, met quietly with our company’s chief legal counsel, Leland Perry, and put on a sharp black suit and full makeup on the fourth evening — armor, of a kind — and I asked Marshall and Nadia to meet me at the house.
They came expecting, I think, a tearful wife.
Nadia would not meet my eyes.
Marshall started with the word every liar starts with.
“Regina, love, this is a terrible misunderstanding—”
“Since when,” I said, setting the folder on the table, “do you spend the night giving my brother’s wife massages?”
I opened it in front of them.
The photographs.
The suspicious statements.