His voice and hands were steady. Moyá introduced herself, showed credentials, and began formally. Gary listened with practiced confusion—the wrongly accused husband, cooperative and concerned. It was masterful. It would have worked on anyone who hadn’t spent ninety-six days studying his lies.
Then Yvonne walked in from the adjacent room. Something crossed Gary’s face—real, unguarded, the first authentic expression I’d seen in months. He was calculating. He looked at her, then at me, and I watched the exact moment he understood. Two women. Separate compartments. What replaced his performance was almost interesting.