“My husband texted from vegas: ‘just married my coworker. You’re pathetic BTW.’ I replied: ‘cool.’ Then I blocked his cards and changed the house locks. Next morning, police were at my door…”

A sharp laugh escaped me. “That sounds familiar.”

“Oh, I’m sure it does.”

I made coffee neither of us really needed. The house was dark outside the kitchen windows, and the entire scene would have been surreal if not for the grounding normalcy of David swearing softly at software. He wasn’t hacking a bank. He was doing what smart people do when arrogant people leave doors open because they think nobody will try the handle.

Then his whole face lit.

“Jackpot,” he said.

He turned the screen toward me.

Messages scrolled there in tight blue-and-white columns—Facebook chats, old direct messages, backups from synced browser sessions, more than a year of conversation between Ethan and Rebecca preserved in their own smug words.

At first I only registered the volume. Then the content hit.

She’s so stupid. Been siphoning money from her grocery account for months. Almost saved enough for our dream wedding, babe. Can’t wait to see her face when we’re gone.

My stomach turned so sharply I had to grip the edge of the table.

David scrolled.

You think she’ll notice the missing cash?

Nah, Ethan had written. Clara’s too boring to check.

Another message.