The Lie Is Growing Teeth

Grant wanted me to become evidence. That was the cleanest way to say it, and I hate that he understood how to use me. He could have hired a detective. He hired someone who knows exactly how to enter a room without making the room notice her, because that is what I did for years, and maybe still do when I choose the right expression.

At Lena’s apartment, I watched Grant’s accusation settle between us like something already on camera. I wanted to look wounded. I wanted to look bored. I wanted Lena to see that I was not there because I cared whether she was sleeping with another man. The ugliest part is that I was not. I was calculating which version of him I could catch.

The case was supposed to be small enough for me. A jealous husband, an affair, a camera, a clean payment. Now women whose names I barely know are appearing in my notebook, attached to money moved between rival clubs and drinks poured for the footage. Grant did not merely lie about Lena. He built a machine that can keep producing lies until anyone inside it looks guilty.

My mother asked whether I could cover Kayla’s school money. Grant’s job will cover it. I felt relief so sharp it almost resembled shame, because Kayla’s ordinary expenses made this feel less like a dangerous assignment and more like useful work. I do not want gratitude to become another rope around my neck.

When another woman confirmed the filmed drinks, my first feeling was not satisfaction. It was anger that Grant thought fear would keep his victims quiet enough for him to keep choosing them.