Page 217 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

He turns a page.

“Do you know Gaspard Peltier?”

“Yes.”

“You confirm that you were in regular contact with him over the past few months?”

“Yes.”

“And Hector Wald?”

He knows.

My hesitation lasts a second too long. It’s already an admission.

Sanders doesn’t wait for my answer. He pulls out a sheet of paper and slides it toward me with the patience of a man who isn’t in a hurry.

“Phone records. Outgoing call, Friday, December twenty-third, 6:15 p.m. Secure line.”

I glance down at it.

“That proves nothing.”

“No. But the conversation we recorded—with judicial authorization—does.”

They wiretapped me. Since when? How much do they know?

He doesn’t give me time to process the panic.

“We also found material on Gaspard Peltier’s computer. A video showing you standing in the kitchen while the man known as Cain attempted to restrain Ms. Ivanov and inject her with a syringe.”

Bastard.

“I didn’t know anything about their plan. I just got caught in the middle of it. I was terrified…”

My lawyer straightens abruptly.

“Madam, I strongly advise you not to—”

Sanders smiles faintly.

“No. Let her finish.”

I stare at him. And I realize too late. I just admitted I was there.

Silence falls, dense and irrevocable.

Sanders simply waits.

“Premeditated attempted murder,” he finally says evenly. “Do you know what sentence you’re facing?”

I don’t answer.

“Thirty years.”

He switches off the recorder, stands and picks up his file without rushing.

“We’re taking a break.”