God, I was stupid then. I guess Sophie was too. She believed me.

I put the bracelet in a box for Aubrey but think better of it. I’m out of a job now. I might need the money down the road. I put it in the box with other jewelry that I intend to sell. One is a diamond pendant that belonged to Frank’s mother. Can’t wait to unload that one and then tell him that some stranger cut the diamond into a nipple ring or something.

He’ll go berserk.

Helen will cry.

It will make me feel just a little bit better.

The bell rings, but I ignore it. Then a fist hammers the front door, so begrudgingly I follow the noise down the hall to answer. Through the peephole, I see Carrie. I expected her to call, but instead, like an insistent and rushed pizza delivery boy, she is making her presence known in person.

I weigh the possible drama, but I open the door anyway.

Her face, absent of makeup, is puffy from crying. Her hair is a mess. I doubt Carrie has ever looked worse.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her. “It’s the weekend. Shouldn’t you be off sucking up to someone?”

She shoves her way inside and lunges at me. I push back, and she retreats a little.

“You fucker!” she screams.

She can be direct. That is one of her decent qualities.

“Seriously?” I say. “You fucked me. You turned me in to HR. I got canned because of you. What kind of a crazy bitch are you?”

Her hands are fists now, and she intends to pummel me. I almost want her to, but I step away from her.

“You never should have posted that photo,” she yells. “I can take you to court over that! It’s against the law.”

I put on my best version of innocence. I knit my brow and widen my eyes at the same time. I’m uncertain if the look works, but it is all I have at the moment to placate this pissed-off woman standing in my living room.

“I was hacked, Carrie! Get a grip!”

Her lips stretch to a thin rubber band. “You are a goddamn liar, Adam.”

I’ll give her that. In this circumstance, I am. It’s easy to lie to the face of someone who’s betrayed you.

“How could you do that to me?” she asks. “I thought we were friends.”

This is unbelievable.

“You cost me my job, Carrie. You ended my career.” Before she can say another word, I play the sympathy card. “Right after my wife died! You took me down when I’d lost everything. Thanks, Carrie. That’s how you treat your friends?”

“I’m going to press charges,” she says.

I shrug. “Fine. Go ahead. I don’t care what you do.”

I do, of course, but only a little.