Page 71 of Morally Corrupt

"What could she possibly do with this?"

After filming the entire room, some portions in detail, I tell Marcel I'm going to the next bedroom.

"This looks ordinary," he says, almost disappointed, as I open the second door.

"Yeah, it's just a bedroom." I go through the drawers, the closet, but it's just a regular sleeping space. I'm about to leave when something catches my eye from under the bed.

"Wait." It's like the corner of a box. I put the phone on the bed, and I get on my knees to slide it towards me. It looks like a shoebox. I open it just to say I checked it.

Inside, I find a bunch of tiny packets filled with white powder. No… I shake my head, feeling some wetness in my eyes. Surely no…

"Theo, are you there?" Marcel's voice startles me. I grab the phone, and I immediately click to show him what I found.

"Is that…?" His eyes are the size of saucers. I don't say anything. Instead, I open a small packet and put a little of the powder on my tongue, thus confirming my worst fears.

"Positive. It's coke."

"That much? What is she, a dealer?" Looking at the amount she has stashed here, that would be the conclusion. But somehow, the truth is even direr.

"No, I think it's hers."

"You're shitting me. Bianca, a drug addict? Have you ever suspected?"

"No… never." But as I say this, past episodes are coming back to mind, of her sleepless nights, of her hands sometimes shaking, of her irritability. It makes sense now, though. It all ties in.

"Theo…"

"She's a high-functioning drug addict, Marcel. My wife of three years is a freaking drug addict. Who knows how long she's been on these things, with her having a double life and all?" My voice is bitter and full of disappointment. Who is she even?

"I'm so sorry, Theo," he says, and I can tell he means it. But this changes everything.

"Let's see the last room. I don't think there's anything worse to find out now."

I think I spoke too soon because the moment I open the last door, I almost drop the phone.

"Double Holy Shit. Your wife is like a master spy," Marcel says because the room is an entire closet of different looks. Or yet, better said, disguises.

"I gotta go. I'll talk to you later." My words are strained as I pocket my phone and take a step inside the room, heading straight for the mannequin in its center. Pink hair. Purple mini dress. Fishnets. Doc Martens.

It's…

Pink.

My knees give out, and I drop on the floor.

Pink… The prostitute I'd fucked over seven years ago. And I'd met Bianca less than five years ago. I frown, unable to take this in.

Bianca is Pink.

Did she…

My head keeps shaking at the notion, but I can't even deny it with the evidence in front of me. Why? Why would she do that?

I stand there for what seems like an eternity before my phone rings.

"She's on the move," Rico tells me, and I mechanically reply with something.

I'm still dazed, but I remember to take a picture of the outfits before getting out of there. Evidence, I tell myself.

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