The desk drawer was unlocked.
I found the phone in the back, behind a folder of old receipts. It was an older model, a secondary device I had never seen before, in a plain black case.
No password.
The first thing I saw was a photo folder with a name I didn’t recognize, which turned out to be a name for a folder rather than a person. Inside were screenshots of women — not explicit, not illegal by themselves, but taken without consent, cropped from social media in ways that made the intent clear. Then images taken in proximity, at angles that required closeness the subjects hadn’t offered.Then I found the photo that made my hands go cold.
Lucy. On our back porch, hanging sheets on the line on a warm afternoon, photographed from inside the house through the kitchen window. She didn’t know anyone was taking it. The angle made that certain.
