“I live in La Crosse. Wisconsin.”
Invalid SIM. Valid revenge.
“Drive me to the U.S. Cellular store,” he said. “And bring your phone. I have a lot of passwords to change before Kevin buys a boat in my name.”
He’d restarted the phone four times. He’d taken the SIM out—a tiny orange-and-white chip from U.S. Cellular—rubbed it on his jeans like a talisman, and slid it back in. The J7 vibrated, hummed, and displayed the same cruel verdict.