Dismissed For Lacking A Degree, I Let My Life Speak For Itself – The Archivist

The next morning, while Jessica was probably sleeping in late in whatever expensive apartment she lived in, two investigators knocked on the door of my apartment at 428 Wentworth Avenue. They’d gotten a key from the building manager, who knew me, who trusted me, who was horrified when he learned what Jessica had done.

I wasn’t there—I was in Linda’s continue reading …