And the worst of it, the part I sat with longest in that chair, was that I could not fully hate him yet, because part of me was still braced to discover I was wrong, still hoping the evidence would clear him, still — even now, even here — extending him the loyalty he had spent two years exploiting.

It took the digital trail, cold and undeniable, to finally kill that hope.

But in the hospital, with only my rearranging memory to go on, I already knew.

You always know, underneath.

I had just needed my daughter’s ruin to make me finally look.

Chapter 13 — A Targeted Operation