“You understand,” he continued, walking back toward her, “that this is a serious proceeding. Careers are at stake. Reputations. Lives.”
He stopped just short of the witness stand, holding the glass loosely in his hand.
“And yet here you are, telling a story that—frankly—sounds like something out of a bad novel.”
He smiled again, though there was less warmth in it now.
“Perhaps you’re just confused,” he said. “Or perhaps you’ve convinced yourself that you’re something more than what you are.”
He took a step closer.
“Or perhaps,” he added, lowering his voice just enough to force the room to lean in, “you’re lying.”
The word hung there.
And then, almost casually, he shifted his grip.
The movement was subtle, almost imperceptible, but deliberate.
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