Chapter 5: What Diane Didn't Know
My attorney's name was Renata Voss.
She'd been sharp in college and she was sharper now — the kind of lawyer who listened without interrupting and asked the one question you hadn't thought of yet.
I sat across from her in her office at half past ten that morning with the USB drive from the hotel, the medical report, and both printed photographs from the urgent care clinic laid out on her desk.
She watched the footage twice without speaking.
"How old is your daughter?" she said.
"Eight."
"And this is the groom's wife.
Not a guest.
Not staff."
"Diane.
Yes.
She put the phone in Nora's pocket approximately forty minutes before Gareth announced it missing."
Renata sat back.
"He knew."
"He had to."
"That's not the same thing as proving it." She tapped the edge of the USB drive.
"This proves Diane planted the phone.
It doesn't prove Gareth instructed her to do it.
He'll say he had no idea.
He'll say Diane acted alone.
He may even let her take the full weight of it."
"She's his wife of less than twenty-four hours."
"People do worse." Renata looked at me steadily.
"What do you want, Marissa?
Tell me exactly."
I thought about Nora on the bench in the first aid room, still saying *I didn't take it* to no one in particular.
I thought about the way Gareth had smiled — not relief, satisfaction — when the phone came out of her pocket.
I thought about my mother's hand on his shoulder.
*Stop making a scene.*
"I want Nora's name cleared," I said.
"Publicly.
In front of the same people who watched it happen.
And I want there to be a legal record of what was done to her."
"I can file a police report on the basis of this footage.
Child endangerment, potentially.
The physical injury alone — the board — that's a separate matter." Renata made a note.
"What about your brother?"
"Whatever the evidence supports."
She nodded once.
"All right.
I'm going to make two calls this morning.
One to a colleague in family law who handles cases involving minors.
One to the Denver PD non-emergency line to ask about next steps for filing.
Don't contact Gareth or Diane directly.
Don't post anything.
Don't respond to whatever is being said online."
"My mother called this morning.
She wants me to talk to Gareth first."
"Don't."
"I know."
"I mean it.
Anything you say to him now, he will use.
He will reframe it.
He will make himself the reasonable one and you the unstable sister who is trying to ruin his marriage." She leaned forward slightly.
"Let the footage speak first."
I drove home.
Nora was on the sofa at her aunt's house, watching a nature documentary with the sound low, a cold pack held loosely against her temple.
She looked up when I came in.
"Did you find out?" she asked.
"I found out some things," I said.
"I'm still working on the rest."
"Was it Gareth?"
Eight years old.
Still sharp enough to ask the right question.
"I'm not sure yet," I said.
Which was true in the way that mattered — I knew what the footage showed, but I didn't know everything.
Not yet.
Nora looked back at the television.
A herd of elephants moved slowly across a dry plain.
"He never liked me," she said.
Not sad.
Just factual.
"Even before last night.
He always looked at me like I was in the way."
I sat down beside her.
I didn't say anything for a moment.
"You were never in the way," I said.
"I know." She leaned her head carefully against my shoulder, mindful of the cold pack.
"But he didn't."
My phone buzzed on the coffee table.
I glanced at the screen.
Unknown number.
Same one from last night.
This time I answered.
"Marissa." A woman's voice.
Quiet.
Slightly unsteady.
"It's Petra."
I stood up and walked to the kitchen.
"How did you get this number?"
"Diane's phone.
I know that sounds—" She stopped.
"I need to tell you something.
Something I didn't get to say last night."
"I know what you were going to say.
I've seen the footage."
A long pause.
"Then you know it was Diane," Petra said.
"Yes."
"What you don't know—" Her voice dropped lower.
"—is that it wasn't her idea."
I gripped the phone tighter.
"Whose was it?"
"She told me last night.
After you left.
She'd had too much to drink and she was scared and she told me everything." Petra's breath was unsteady.
"Gareth planned it.
Two weeks ago.
He told Diane exactly what to do, exactly when to do it, and exactly what pocket to use.
He even told her which jacket was Nora's."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"He knew which jacket was Nora's," I said.
"He told Diane to look for the one with the rainbow patch on the left sleeve." A pause.
"Nora sewed that patch on herself, didn't she?
Gareth mentioned it.
He said Nora had shown it to him at Christmas."
Nora had shown him that patch.
She'd been so proud of it.
She'd asked him if it was neat, and he'd said yes, and ruffled her hair, and she'd talked about it the whole drive home.
He had used that detail.
He had used her pride in a patch she'd sewn herself to make sure his wife could find her coat in the dark.
"Petra," I said.
"Will you say that on record?"
Silence.
"He's my sister's husband," she said.
"I know."
"If I do this, Diane will never forgive me."
"Petra." I kept my voice even.
"He planned this against a child.
An eight-year-old who brought him a flower girl drawing that morning.
Whatever you decide, I need you to know that."
The line was quiet for a long time.
May you like
"Tell me where to go," Petra said finally.
"And I'll be there."
