Chapter 8: The List He Made
Cole's attorney was named Darren Fitch, and he was good.
Patricia told me that on a Wednesday, sitting across from me in her office with a legal pad covered in notes.
"He's good," she said, "and he's aggressive, and he has clearly been preparing this for longer than we'd like."
"How long?"
"The documentation Fitch submitted this morning includes a psychiatric evaluation Cole had commissioned — privately, without Mara's knowledge — fourteen months ago.
He had someone compile a report suggesting Mara had a pattern of emotional instability, poor decision-making, and dependency behaviors."
"He paid someone to write that."
"He paid someone to write that." Patricia's voice was neutral.
"It will be challenged.
But it exists, and it will be entered into the record, and we need to be ready for it."
I looked at the legal pad.
"What else?"
"He's claiming the bruises are self-inflicted.
That Mara has a history of harming herself during emotional episodes." Patricia set down her pen.
"He has two witnesses — both business associates of his — prepared to testify that they observed Mara behaving erratically at social events."
"Garrett," I said.
"One of them, yes."
I thought about Garrett at the lunch table, reaching for the bread basket, dismissing me in fourteen words.
"They were at the pool the day I saw the bruise," I said.
"They saw Cole smirk when the towel blew open."
Patricia looked up.
"You're certain?"
"I'm certain."
"Then they're not just his witnesses.
They're potential witnesses for us, depending on what they actually saw and whether they're willing to tell the truth under oath." She made a note.
"I'll want a full account of that afternoon from you in writing.
Everything you observed.
Timeline, dialogue, physical details."
"I'll have it to you by tomorrow morning."
"Good." She folded her hands.
"There's one more thing.
Cole's attorney has requested a paternity test."
I went still.
"He's following through on the threat," I said.
"Yes.
It's a delay tactic as much as anything else — designed to create doubt, extend the timeline, and put Mara through additional stress during the third trimester." Patricia's voice stayed even.
"We will comply, because we have no reason not to.
The test will confirm what Mara has told us.
But the process will take three to four weeks, and Cole's team knows that."
"He's trying to run out the clock before the baby comes."
"He's trying to create as much chaos as possible and hope Mara breaks under the pressure." Patricia looked at me steadily.
"Will she?"
I thought about Mara's voice on the phone that morning.
*Be out by six.*
"No," I said.
"Then we keep moving."
I drove to Mara's house that evening.
She was in the kitchen, eating crackers and reading something on her laptop.
The house was quiet in a way that felt new — not empty, but unguarded.
I told her about the psychiatric report.
About the self-harm claim.
About Garrett.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she closed the laptop.
"He had that report made fourteen months ago," she said.
"Yes."
"That was two months after we got married."
The room was very quiet.
"He was planning an exit strategy before the marriage was a year old," she said.
Not a question.
"It looks that way."
She was quiet for a long moment.
Then: "Jana."
"What?"
"Jana — my friend he cut off.
She was at our wedding.
She gave a toast." Mara looked at me.
"She saw things.
Early things, before I stopped telling her.
If she's willing to talk—"
"Can you reach her?"
"He sent that message from my phone eight months ago.
But Jana's not the kind of person who gives up on someone." Mara picked up her own phone.
"Let me try."
She typed a message.
Set the phone down.
We both looked at it.
Forty seconds later, it lit up.
*MARA.
Oh thank God.
I've been so worried.
Are you okay?
Where are you?*
Mara's eyes filled.
"She's been waiting," she said.
"Call her," I said.
"Tonight.
Tell her everything."
Mara nodded and pressed the phone to her ear.
I went to the kitchen window and looked out at the backyard while she talked.
I could hear her voice behind me — low at first, then steadier, then something that was almost like the sister I remembered from before all of this.
Twenty minutes later she came and stood beside me.
"She'll testify," Mara said.
"She said she's been saving his messages.
The ones he sent pretending to be me.
She never deleted them."
I turned to look at her.
"She printed them," Mara said.
"She printed them and kept them in a folder because she said something felt wrong and she didn't know what else to do."
Jana had been building a file without knowing she was building a file.
May you like
"Tell Patricia," I said.
Mara was already dialing.
