Gordon stood in the hallway, chest heaving, a crumpled paper in his fist. “My boss just called me into his office,” he said. “He had a printout of every message I ever sent her. Every one.” I set down my dish towel. “I didn’t send anything to your boss,” I said quietly. His eyes narrowed. “Then who did?” Behind him, the front door creaked open again, and a woman in a gray suit stepped inside.

It was the mistress, Dana, holding a thick folder. “I did,” she said, her voice shaking but steady. “After I left your suitcase, I went to the company’s ethics office. You told me you were separated. You also told me your wife handled the finances of your department’s expense account.” Gordon turned slowly toward me. The color left his face. “Lorraine,” he whispered, “what did you give her?”