Chapter 6: The Footage and the Lawyer
His name was Grant Holloway, and he arrived at Diane's house at half past eight with a leather briefcase and the calm, unhurried manner of a man who had heard worse things than this and helped people survive them.
He sat across from me at Diane's dining room table and listened without interrupting while I laid it out: the pool, the footage, Sophie's words, the message on Vanessa's phone, what Rachel had sent me.
When I finished, he was quiet for a moment.
"You have the camera footage saved somewhere other than the home system?"
"I airdropped it to my phone and emailed it to myself the moment Vanessa went inside."
"Good." He opened his briefcase.
"The footage of what she did to Sophie is your strongest immediate lever.
Child endangerment, minimum.
Depending on what the investigation turns up, potentially worse." He looked up.
"You said your wife — Vanessa — is still legally your wife?"
"We've been married fourteen months."
"Then she has access to joint accounts, the property, potentially documents in the house.
Before you go to the police tomorrow, we need to freeze what we can tonight." He slid a form across the table.
"I'm going to need you to walk me through every financial account she has access to."
We worked for two hours.
By the time we finished, Grant had made four calls, drafted two emergency filings, and had a contact at the police department's family crimes unit expecting me at nine the next morning.
He closed his briefcase.
"One thing I want to be clear about.
When you speak to the detective tomorrow, you tell the truth about what you witnessed and what Sophie told you.
You show them the footage.
You say nothing about the financial investigation, nothing about Rachel, nothing about the messages.
Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Because if Vanessa's attorney gets wind that there's a broader investigation before we have everything in place, she will move assets and she will disappear.
And if Rachel is building a parallel case, we do not want to collapse it before it's ready."
"Understood."
He stood and shook my hand.
"Go get your daughter.
Keep your phone on.
And Daniel—" He paused.
"Don't go back to that house alone tonight."
I picked up Sophie from my neighbor's just after ten.
She was already in her pajamas, half-asleep, and she reached for me without opening her eyes.
I carried her to the car and buckled her in and sat in the driver's seat for a moment before starting the engine.
"Daddy," she said, eyes still closed.
"I'm here."
"Is the lady gone?"
"Yes, sweetheart.
She's gone."
A pause.
Then, very quietly: "Is Mommy coming back?"
My hand tightened on the steering wheel.
"I'm working on it," I said.
"I promise."
She was asleep before we reached the end of the street.
I drove to my brother's house.
He didn't ask questions.
He made up the guest room and put a blanket on the couch for me and brought me a cup of coffee I didn't drink.
At midnight, a message arrived from Rachel.
*I found her name.
The woman in the car.
Her name was Carol Mead.
She was Vanessa's former business partner.
They had a dispute over money eighteen months before the accident.
I have documents.*
I stared at the ceiling of my brother's living room.
*Send everything to this email.* I typed Grant's address.
*Already done,* she replied.
*I've been ready for a long time.*
Then: *How is Sophie?*
I looked toward the guest room where my daughter was sleeping.
*She asked if you were coming back,* I typed.
The three dots appeared.
Stayed.
Disappeared.
Then: *Tell her soon.
Please.*
May you like
I set the phone on my chest and looked at the ceiling until the coffee went cold and the house went quiet and somewhere outside a dog barked once and stopped.
Three more days.
