Chapter 9 — The Photographs

That left the photographs.

The photographs had always been the part that burned hottest — Lucy, my Lucy, climbing into Victor’s car; Lucy and Victor leaning close together over a cafe table; the images Maya had spread on my coffee table three years ago while she wept and I went cold and murderous inside.

They too had another story, and it was a simple one, and it had been sitting there the whole time for anyone willing to ask.

Victor, my primary wood supplier, had begun to suspect that Ryan was skimming from our supply shipments, quietly, for months.