Chapter 5: Expense Report

Dennis Tidwell's office had a putting green.

It was a strip of fake grass six feet long, with a cup at one end.

He did not offer us a seat.

He stood on the green with a putter and sank a ball while we waited.

"I read the group chat," he said.

"I assumed so," Tristan said.

"I read it at seven last night, and again at six this morning."

He frowned at the cup.

"I was a little surprised that I was in it."

"You were added without consent," I said.

"I was added by the analyst."

He lined up another ball.

"He told me it was the official company channel. I've never been more insulted by a lie."

He sank the putt.

"Mr. Hayes. There's a photograph of you on a street corner at midnight with Ms. Stratton."

He held up a second printout.

"And a photograph of you at a mall with Ms. Stratton and a pink bag. Explain them."

"Ms. Templeton's birthday," Tristan said. "I asked Ms. Stratton for help with a gift."

"Why Ms. Stratton?"

"She keeps lists."

Tidwell set the putter down.

He turned to me.

I had a speech ready. I had prepared it in the shower and refined it in the elevator.

"Ms. Stratton," he said. "I'm going to ask you a direct question. Are you in a relationship with Mr. Hayes?"

The putting green was suddenly very bright.

Tristan did not breathe. I know because I could hear him not breathing.

I could not lie to a man who remembered every bourbon he had ever had.

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