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Timestamp.
Record.
The kind of thing Caleb could not charm, deny, or edit later.
At 5:42 p.m., the lie became public.
I reached into Caleb’s pants pocket and pulled out the key fob to his new truck.
His mouth opened.
I held it between two fingers.
“This,” I said, “is the last thing of yours going into my pool.”
Then I dropped it into the deep end.
The fob vanished continue reading …
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