I stop myself from rolling my eyes. “You can assume whatever you want,” I snap, and the words hang between us, hot and dangerous.

Bierman makes an exasperated face, then tries again. “That’s you in these photos, correct?”

I cut my eyes at him. “What, do you want me to strip right now so you can compare?”

His face goes flat as he shifts uncomfortably. “You’re not helping yourself, Ms. Maxwell.”

I glance at Glover for backup, for...anything, but instead of finding concern in her face this time, she looks away like she wants to help me, but knows it isn’t her place.

Bierman glances down at the papers he has on the table between us. I squint, but I can’t see anything from here. “I see here in your file that you’ve done time before. Six months in the Administration for Children’s Services. Resisting arrest. Aggravated assault.”

The words come slowly and from far away. I don’t say anything. I think he’s going to keep going, but he stops, waiting for my reaction.

I blink and then realize I have to speak. “Is that a question?”

“That’s a question.”

My head is already shaking. “That was...”

“That was what?”

My leg bounces under the table. I feel tears wanting to fall, but I force them back. “I told you about that. It was an accident.”

“Pushing a woman down a flight of stairs doesn’t seem like an accident to me,” he says, barely trying to conceal his disgust.

“Well, it was. I pushed her off me, but she tripped down the stairs on her own.” She didn’t die. She was barely even hurt. I didn’t do it on purpose. “I didn’t push her that hard.” I look away, impatient, scared.

“Was poisoning Van Doren’s drink also an accident?”

My head snaps up.

Glover throws a look at Bierman and there’s a moment of unspoken communication between them.

Bierman clears his throat, eyes back on me. “Listen, we’ve got a problem here, Ms. Maxwell.”

“No, you’ve got a problem. And you’re wasting time questioning me when you could be out searching for evidence that can lead you to who really murdered Simon.”

“Simon,” he parrots. “You call him Simon. I noticed you called him that before.”

I say nothing.

He shrugs. “Pretty informal way to address a man of his stature.”

“He’s the one who asked me to call him Simon. It wasn’t just me. He told all the interns to use his first name.”

He studies me. “You say you didn’t send these emails, but you acknowledge this is you in these photos, which were attached to one of the emails that were sent to Van Doren.”

I look him in the eye. “For the last time, I never—”

“If you didn’t send them, who did?”