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The room tilted. I couldn’t breathe.
“Look at the photos,” Vance said quietly.
I poured them onto the desk. Grainy surveillance shots: Terrence in an alley handing cash to a tattooed man. Terrence and Tiffany celebrating with champagne.
Then the last photo stopped my heart.
Taken through our kitchen window, timestamped 2:14 a.m. three nights before Esther continue reading …
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