Chapter 4
The bottom right drawer of his desk was for hanging files. They were in alphabetical order.
I checked “A” first, for American Express. There was nothing there. There was nothing under “C” for credit cards, “D” for Discover, or “M” for MasterCard either, but there were a number of bills for different cards under “V” for Visa.
And there it was. He had paid for everything—the hotel, our meals, the excursions—with his own card.
“Son of a bitch.” I sank back in the plush chair I’d bought for him. Why hadn’t he used the cards I’d given him? He loved the power drill I’d bought him. He said he liked having me buy things for him.
There was another photo on his desk across from the grainy one of the two of us kissing. The grainy photo must have been taken with a telephoto lens, and I’d had no clue where that had come from. He’d just grinned when I asked, and refused to tell me.