“Explain it,” I said.
My voice sounded wrong. Too quiet. Too even.
Gregory swallowed. “Rowan—”
“No.” I lifted the note, my fingers shaking despite every effort to steady them. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re friends. You don’t get to soften this. You tell me what this means.”
He looked at the door, then the blinds, then the desk between us, as if help might come from the cheap furniture.
“I didn’t know everything,” he said.
“You knew enough.”
“I knew after.”
“After what?”
His silence told me more than his words could have. It was the silence of a man who had spent a year convincing himself that omission was not the same as guilt.
I leaned forward. “After what, Gregory?”
He closed his eyes. “After the divorce was finalized. Claire contacted me again. She said there were loose ends.”
The name struck something raw inside me.
