“Look familiar?” Cruz said.

“Yes, of course.” I hadn’t realized my reaction was so obvious, but I remembered that moment perfectly. It was right after Lucy had extended the job offer and I’d accepted and signed the new-hire paperwork. I’d been delirious with relief and joy.

“That’s you, right? Coming out of Ms. Carter-Jones’s office.”

I nodded. “But why are you showing me this? It was long ago.”

“Eight thirty last night was long ago?”

“No, this is from last month. December nineteenth.”

He rewound the clip and played it again. “Look at the time stamp.”

I squinted at the screen. The digits in the corner read 02.02.14 20.36.48. “Wait,” I said. “That’s not right.” I looked at Riley and back at Cruz. “Where did you get this?”

“Last night you had a meeting with Lucy Carter-Jones that upset you so much you left crying.” Cruz tapped the tablet and left a freeze-frame of me up on the screen. “And thirty minutes later you got on an elevator with her.”

Then it hit me. Hard. Someone had altered the time stamp. Someone had manufactured evidence to show I had a motive to kill Lucy. This was why the detectives’ attitude had changed so dramatically. Someone was trying to frame me for murder, and they were buying it.

“No!” I burst out. “This wasn’t last night. This was the day I got the job offer. Lucy had me come to her office to do the paperwork, and I was so happy when I left—”

“Look at what you’re wearing,” Cruz said. “Those are the same clothes you wore last night. The exact same clothes.”

My face burned. “I only have the one suit.”

“It’s the same shirt, too.”

“I only have three. I rotate them.”

“So it’s just a coincidence.”

“Yes! I didn’t go to Lucy’s office last night. I had no reason to.”

“Except that she summoned you there. And fired you. And that’s why you were crying when you left.”

“What? No! Why would she fire me? I’m doing fine. Better than fine! I’ve been putting in eighty-hour weeks. My work has been first-rate.” I jabbed a finger at the screen. “Somebody doctored this. That’s not the right date. Somebody’s trying to set me up!”

From the moment that gun went off, I knew I’d have to work hard to sell my version of events. But it never occurred to me that someone would be actively trying to sell the opposite version of events. Someone who’d scoured the surveillance archives to unearth that clip, then changed the time stamp.

Cruz looked down at his notes. The image of me crying was still up there on the screen. Apparently he intended to leave it there. “What was your first job out of law school?” he asked.

The sudden change of subject caught me off-guard. “Jackson Rieders. I told you.”

“Not clerking for Judge Wendell Arnold?”

“What? No—”

“Then why did you say that on your résumé?” He slid a plastic-sleeved sheaf of papers across the table.