And attached to the log was a clip from the small camera I keep in that room, which my son had evidently forgotten about or never known existed.

It showed Amber standing at my desk, unhurried, photographing documents one page at a time with her phone, while Garnet stood in the doorway keeping watch — just as he had stood watch at the ballroom door, guarding his wife while she did the ugly work.

I sat in the corridor and made myself watch all of it.

The papers she photographed were not random.

They were trust statements.