Chapter 10: The Last Thing Daniel Said
Margaret's office was on the fourth floor of a building downtown, clean and spare, with a window that looked out over the street below.
She was exactly what her voice had suggested — direct, unhurried, precise.
She shook my hand and gestured to the chair across from her desk and we got to work.
We spent ninety minutes going through everything.
The three accounts.
The forged signatures.
The lake house transfer attempt.
The phone call Daniel had made that morning.
The trust documents.
What I owned.
What I was owed.
What the investigation would likely produce.
When we finished, Margaret folded her hands on the desk.
"You have a strong case," she said.
"The fraud is documented, the forgeries are clear, and Daniel's attempt to contact the lender this morning will not help him." She paused.
"In terms of the marriage — divorce proceedings can begin whenever you're ready.
Given the financial misconduct, you have grounds that go well beyond irreconcilable differences.
The court will take the fraudulent accounts into account."
"What about the baby?" I asked.
"Custody arrangements will be part of the divorce proceedings.
Given what's on record — the fraudulent accounts, the documented physical incident last night — you are in a very strong position." She looked at me carefully.
"The incident last night.
The sl\*p.
Did anyone else witness it?"
"Harold.
He was in the hallway."
"He's already given me a written statement." She slid a single page across the desk.
"He prepared it this morning."
I read it.
Harold's handwriting was small and precise.
He had written down exactly what he saw.
The sl\*p.
The soup.
My fall.
Daniel's response.
Every word.
He had dated it and signed it at the bottom.
I set it back on the desk.
"He didn't have to do that," I said.
"No," Margaret agreed.
"He wanted to."
I drove back to Grace's apartment in the late afternoon.
The sky was going orange at the edges, the kind of light that makes ordinary streets look briefly important.
My phone showed a voicemail from a number I recognized as the house — the family home, Daniel's parents' landline.
I sat in the parked car and listened to it.
It was Daniel.
His voice was quieter than I had ever heard it.
Not soft — Daniel was never soft — but stripped of the performance.
What was left underneath sounded tired.
"Emily.
I know you're not going to call me back.
I'm not asking you to." A pause.
"I've been talking to my attorney all day.
I understand what's happening.
I understand what I did." Another pause, longer.
"I'm not going to tell you I'm sorry, because I don't think that means anything right now.
Maybe it never will." His voice shifted slightly.
"I want you to know — the baby.
Whatever happens with us.
I don't want to be the kind of father mine had to be.
I don't want to be watched from a hallway." A breath.
"I know I don't get to just say that and have it mean something.
I know that.
I just — I needed to say it."
The message ended.
I sat with it for a moment.
Then I deleted it and went inside.
Grace was in the kitchen.
She had made dinner — something simple, something warm.
She looked up when I came in and read my face the way she always did.
"Okay?" she said.
May you like
"Getting there," I said.
She handed me a plate and we sat down together.
