“You’d tell me to sit down first,” I murmured.

So I did.

At the kitchen table I opened it.

There were five photographs.

The first showed Trevor outside a hotel, face turned away, his arm around a woman who was not Kristen.

The second showed him entering the same hotel at night.

The third showed Kristen in a restaurant booth, sitting across from Lyle Voss.

The fourth was a copy of a wire transfer.