Chapter 11: Pilsen, Night

"A year of footage and he sent it to the board on a Thursday," I said.

"Ask him why."

The chief executive turned her gray eyes on Cory.

"Mr. Ellison?"

"It was the first chance I had," he said. "I was protecting the company."

"Ms. Whitaker has worked here a year. She has no complaints on her file. You have sixty-one videos."

"That's what I'm saying."

"I am asking why you filmed your wife sixty-one times and never once put the camera down."

He had no answer for that.

She sent him out of the room, and he went with his phone clutched against his chest.

When the door closed, she took off her glasses.

"I can't ignore a letter from the board chair," she said.

"You have until Friday to show me something that isn't a clip."

"Thank you."

"For what it's worth, I watched that screen. Your question was not a symptom."

I did not cry in her office.

I made it to the elevator, and then to the stairwell.

I sat on a step on the nineteenth floor with my phone in both hands.

I typed: "Is the rule still good?"

The answer came while I was still looking at the screen.

"I've been breaking it in my head since Wednesday."

"Where are you?"

"The shop. Come and I'll make you dinner."

It was after nine when I knocked on the green door.

He opened it in a clean flannel shirt, with his hair damp and his lip healing.

He did not say a word.

He took my face in both hands and kissed me.

The door banged shut behind us, and I was against it, my coat sliding off my shoulders.

His mouth was hot, and I opened for it at once.

"Filed, you said," he murmured against my jaw.

"I changed my mind."

"I noticed."

"Are you going to make me say it twice?"

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