A number I don’t recognize, a cryptic text: ‘Damaging information.’
Intrigued, I agree to meet at a cheap restaurant. He arrives, sits, and begins showing me photos of Gina and me passionately entwined. They leave little to the imagination.
“Gina’s my wife.” His glare pierces me. “Or was, before I killed her.”
Panic: Am I next?
He bursts into laughter. “Just kidding. She’s not worth killing. But thanks. Now she’ll get nothing in the divorce, except maybe that stupid Shih Tsu.”
He stands up. I’m confused: Is that it?
“Keep the copies I sent your wife,” he says as he leaves.