“What kind of proof do you have?” I asked.

“I’ve got photos,” she said.

“And a video file too.”

“Where?”

“In my room on East Grand Avenue,” she said.

“Hidden in a manila folder under my mattress.”

I looked back toward the kitchen door, where Frank was still sitting by himself at our table waiting to go over the contract.

“Go inside and get your purse,” I told Rebecca.