Chapter 5: The Text from Nowhere
I stood on the pavement outside the restaurant and read it three times.
*We should talk.
Tonight.*
No name.
No context.
The number had a local area code but nothing else I recognized.
I looked up and down the street.
The dark sedan was still there, engine off, no visible driver.
A cab moved past.
A couple walked by arm in arm, laughing about something.
Everything looked normal.
I typed back: *Who is this?*
Three dots appeared immediately.
Then: *Joanna.*
I stopped walking.
The retired schoolteacher.
The one who'd paid for the coastal trip.
The one Sandra had mentioned by name.
I typed: *How did you get my number?*
*Sandra.
She texted me when she saw his car.
She said she was going in.
I've been parked outside.*
I looked back at the dark sedan.
The driver's window came down two inches.
A hand appeared briefly, then disappeared.
I walked over.
The woman behind the wheel was in her early sixties, silver-haired, reading glasses pushed up on her head.
She looked tired in the way that had nothing to do with the hour.
"Joanna?" I said through the gap in the window.
"You must be the date." She said it without judgment.
"Get in for a minute.
It's cold."
I hesitated.
Sandra had trusted her enough to text her.
That was enough for me.
I got in.
The car smelled like peppermint and old paperbacks.
Joanna had a coffee cup in the holder and a manila folder on the passenger seat, which she moved to the back before I sat down.
"I'm not trying to frighten you," she said.
"I just wanted to talk to someone who'd just seen him.
To see if he's changed at all."
"Has he?"
She looked at the restaurant door.
"No."
We sat quietly for a moment.
"Sandra told me about the account," I said.
"That he might have already tried something tonight."
Joanna nodded slowly.
"That's what I'm afraid of.
Because the last time he said something like that to her — the last time he made a comment about knowing something — he'd already moved on it.
Three days before.
He plans ahead.
He just likes to tell you after, when it's harder to undo."
My stomach dropped slightly.
"She called her bank on the way in."
"Good." Joanna picked up her coffee, didn't drink it.
"I didn't.
That was my mistake.
By the time I realized what he'd done, he'd already transferred out of the joint account we had from a shared trip we'd planned.
Not a huge amount.
But enough.
And because I'd given him the login to book the hotel — " She stopped.
"It doesn't matter now.
It's done."
"Did you get it back?"
"Some of it.
After three months and a lot of phone calls." She set the cup back down.
"I'm not here about the money, though.
Not really."
"Then what?"
She reached into the back seat and retrieved the manila folder.
She set it on her lap but didn't open it.
"I've been building something," she said.
"For the past year.
Every woman who's contacted me, every date Sandra knows about, every transaction anyone was willing to document.
Dates, amounts, his exact words where people remembered them." She tapped the folder.
"Seven women.
Fourteen incidents.
Three of them with bank records."
I looked at the folder.
"What are you going to do with it?"
"I've been talking to a journalist," she said.
"Someone who covers financial fraud and consumer protection.
She thinks there may be enough for a story.
Not a criminal case — we know that road.
But a story." She finally looked at me directly.
"I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to add your account.
Tonight.
What happened in there."
"I didn't lose any money," I said.
"Sandra paid."
"I know.
But you were there.
You saw him.
You heard him." She opened the folder and I caught a glimpse of printed emails, handwritten notes, what looked like a bank statement with certain lines highlighted.
"A witness who didn't lose anything is sometimes more credible than one who did.
Less easy to dismiss."
I looked at the folder.
Then at Joanna.
"Who's the journalist?" I asked.
She told me the name.
I knew it.
Everyone in my industry knew it.
"She's good," I said.
"She's very good." Joanna closed the folder.
"She wants to meet next week.
Sandra's coming.
Two of the others have agreed.
I'm asking you because you're the most recent.
And because — " She paused.
"Because you got out before he cost you anything.
And I think that matters."
I thought about Marcus at the door.
*I know about the account, Sandra.* The way he'd said it.
Quiet.
Deliberate.
Not a threat exactly.
A reminder.
A demonstration of what he was capable of.
"Yes," I said.
"I'll come."
Joanna exhaled.
It was the first time she'd looked anything other than carefully composed.
"Thank you," she said.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Sandra: *Bank confirmed.
He tried to initiate a transfer at 7:52 PM.
They blocked it.
Calling me tomorrow.*
I showed Joanna the screen.
She read it and closed her eyes for one second.
May you like
"Seven fifty-two," she said.
"That was before he even sat down with you."
