He left. He packed a bag and slammed the door and drove off in the Range Rover, and I stood in the kitchen for ten minutes, listening to the house settle around me. Then I called Ainsley.
"Do you have the video?" I asked.
"What video?"
"The one you filmed at the rehearsal dinner. The polygraph."
Ainsley was quiet. "Yeah. I have it. Why?"
"I need it. Send it to me."
She sent it. I watched it that night, alone in the bedroom, on my laptop, with the lights off. I watched myself answer question after question, the green light steady. I watched Callum take the sensor. I watched the questions. And I froze the frame on question four, on the blink, and I took a screenshot of the exact moment the light flickered white.
It wasn't proof. Not in any legal sense. But it was something.
Over the
