Chapter 6: Closer Than We Thought
Dana's lawyer arrived within the hour.
His name was Gerald Fitch — a compact, unhurried man in his sixties with reading glasses on a cord around his neck and a briefcase that looked like it had survived a great deal.
He sat in Dana's armchair, set the briefcase on the floor, and looked at both of us with the calm of someone who had delivered difficult news many times and understood that calm was the most useful thing he could offer.
"The investigators tracked a phone registered under one of his known aliases," he said.
"Cell tower data puts him in the metro area.
Has been for approximately twenty-two days."
"Why didn't anyone tell Dana?" I asked.
"They told me four days ago.
I've been trying to reach Dana since yesterday." He glanced at her.
"I understand you've been screening calls."
Dana looked at the floor.
"I thought it was the other firm again."
"Understandable." He didn't make it sound like a criticism.
"The important thing is that you are now informed, and we need to talk about next steps."
"What are the next steps?" I said.
He looked at me with mild interest.
"You are?"
"Her sister."
He nodded once, as if that settled something.
"The investigators want Dana to come in this week for a follow-up interview.
Given that he's local, they're moving faster now.
They believe he may be attempting to reach other people who could testify against him — either to intimidate them or to make some kind of arrangement."
"The text she received this morning," I said.
"Four words.
He said he knew I was here."
Fitch's expression didn't change, but he reached into his briefcase and produced a small notepad.
"Read it to me exactly."
Dana read it.
He wrote it down.
"You'll forward that to me immediately after I leave," he said.
"I'll pass it to the investigators today.
This is actually helpful — if it is him, it establishes contact and intent."
"Helpful," Dana said, with a short, hollow sound that wasn't quite a laugh.
"I know that's a cold word for it." He looked at her directly.
"Ms.
Dana.
I want to be honest with you.
This development is serious, but it is not bad for your case.
It suggests he is worried.
People who are not worried do not send texts like that."
Dana looked at her hands.
"What does she need to do?" I asked.
"She needs to come in Thursday.
She needs to forward that text.
She needs to tell me immediately if there is any further contact." He paused.
"And she should not be alone for the next few days.
Not as a legal requirement — as a practical one."
I looked at Dana.
"You're coming to stay with us."
"Ellen—"
"That's not a discussion."
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Looked at Fitch.
"Your sister is right," he said simply.
After he left, Dana and I sat in her living room without speaking for a moment.
The papers were still on the coffee table.
She reached out and straightened the edge of the legal pad, a small, automatic gesture.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"I know that's not enough."
"It's not nothing," I said.
"Mom's money—"
"We'll figure that out later."
"I wanted to pay it back before you ever knew.
That was the plan.
Pay it back, close the whole thing, and you'd never have to know it was gone." She looked at me.
"I know how that sounds."
"It sounds like you were terrified and you made a bad decision and then you made another one trying to fix it." I held her gaze.
"I've done that.
Not at this scale.
But I've done that."
She looked surprised.
Like she'd forgotten I was capable of it.
"Pack a bag," I said.
"Enough for a week."
She nodded.
She stood up.
She was almost to the hallway when she stopped.
"Ellen."
"Yeah."
"The man.
Marcus." She turned around.
"I saw someone outside last week.
Sitting in a car across the street.
I told myself it was nothing."
I kept my voice steady.
"What did the car look like?"
She described it.
Dark blue, older model, parked just past the streetlight so the plates were in shadow.
"Did you see his face?"
"Not clearly." She paused.
"But he was watching the house.
I'm sure of it."
I looked at the window.
The street outside was quiet.
A woman walking a stroller.
Two kids on bikes.
Everything ordinary.
"Go pack," I said.
She went.
I stayed where I was, looking at the street, and I thought about a man who used three names in two states, who had taken money from people who trusted him, who had watched my sister's house from a car parked just out of the light.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Liam: *Is she okay?*
I typed back: *She will be.
We're coming home.*
Then, before I put the phone away, I took a photo of the coffee table.
The papers, the legal pad, the letter from the law firm.
All of it.
I didn't know yet exactly why.
May you like
But I wanted a record.
And I was starting to understand that in this situation, a record was the only thing that mattered.
