Mark took one sheet of paper out of the folder.

He slid it across the desk to me.

“Your mother thinks this investigation is only about the moment the pan slipped,” Mark said.

“She assumes her private messages are safe because nobody asked for her phone.”

It was a printed spreadsheet of phone data.

Thick gray lines divided the columns.

I looked at the top row of the grid.

I recognized Vanessa’s ten-digit number listed as the recipient.