“I had the surgery,” I said quietly. “I opened the garage. I know about Penelope.”
A nervous laugh escaped him, followed by a frown and then something colder.
“You don’t understand what these years did to me. I needed someone who could actually see me.”
“Then look at me now, Brian. I see you completely.”
I handed him the folder the attorney had prepared.
Separation papers.
Financial disclosure requests.
Copies of every document found inside the hidden room behind the garage door.
“Your mistress thinks I’m dying. She thinks I’m being moved into a care facility.”
“Gina, please…”
While Marissa had photographed the room, I had noticed an envelope on the side table addressed to Penelope. Her phone number had been written beneath the return address.
I copied it down before leaving.
