Sharon nodded. She walked to the dining room, the click of her heels echoing in the silence. She knelt, unscrewed the brass fitting on the table leg, and slipped the drive inside. Within seconds, it was gone. Hidden in plain sight.
It was circled in red ink. Beneath it, a single line of hurried script: The transfer is complete. The wife suspects nothing. Hustler 23 08 13 Sharon White Domestic Affairs ...