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Everyone in Paris knew. Everett Myers was completely devoted to Maggie Crawford, the young woman he had mentored over the years. As for me, his lawfully wedded wife, I was merely a cover. At what should have been the ninth anniversary celebration of our marriage, the screen intended to show our wedding photos instead displayed moments of Everett's joyful times with Maggie over the years—their first time holding hands, their first kiss... In the final sequence, Maggie appeared, scantily dressed, her eyes glistening with tears, like a fragile lily swaying in the breeze. "Uncle, I'm sorry. I can't forget you, and I can't watch you marry someone you don't love." "I've taken something to, you know, make myself want you... If you're not here by midnight..." The video hadn’t finished playing when Everett,