“Then I found a receipt.”
“What receipt?”
“The first Charleston trip.”
My mind raced.
“I thought I threw that away.”
“You did.”
“Then how—”
“It was emailed to the household travel account.”
Corinne continued.
“One room.
Two spa appointments.
Dinner for two.
No client meetings on your calendar.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“The night you came home.”
I recalled.
Barely.
She asked whether Charleston went well.
I said yes.
She asked who attended.
I listed three investors.
She asked whether Deborah Price had been there.
I said yes.
Deborah had canceled that trip.
Corinne knew her socially.
“You lied without blinking,” she said.
“So I stopped asking questions.”
“Why stay?”
Her eyes moved toward me.
“I was pregnant.”
The answer was simple enough to hurt.
“I had just found out.
I wanted to believe there was an explanation I didn’t understand.”
“There was no—”
