“Then she should have no trouble answering questions.”

He sat back down.

Brielle crushed the bouquet in her hands until petals dropped onto the floor.

“You planned this,” she said to me.

“No,” I replied. “You planned it. I documented it.”

The guests murmured again.

Trevor looked smaller now.

Not poor. Not ruined. Just exposed.

End of story — Part 3 of 3