Chapter 11: Thursday Morning
Rebecca Holt's office was on the fourth floor of a building with large windows and good light.
She was in her mid-fifties.
Reading glasses on a chain around her neck.
A desk that was organized in a way that suggested she had seen everything and filed it correctly.
I set the folder on her desk.
She opened it without ceremony and read.
I watched her face while she read.
It didn't change much.
A slight tightening around the eyes at certain pages.
A pause at the voicemail transcripts Linda had written out by hand.
When she finished, she closed the folder and looked at me.
"How long have you been married?"
"Eighteen years."
"Children?"
"One daughter.
Emma.
She's sixteen."
"Does Emma know?"
"Not yet.
Not fully."
Rebecca nodded.
She picked up a pen.
"Tell me about the Meridian Group situation."
I told her everything Carrie and Diane had shared.
The HR complaint.
The settlement.
The way Mark had been asked to leave and had come home and told me it was his decision.
Rebecca wrote while I talked.
When I finished, she set the pen down.
"The settlement Diane signed limits her public statements.
But it does not prevent her from speaking to you privately, and it does not prevent her from providing a statement in a legal proceeding if one is initiated." She paused.
"The HR documentation is a matter of firm record.
Depending on how this proceeds, it may be obtainable."
"What are my options?"
She told me clearly and without softening anything.
Division of assets.
Custody arrangements for a sixteen-year-old, which in most cases gave Emma significant say in her own situation.
The question of whether Mark's conduct at the Meridian Group constituted anything beyond personal misconduct.
"Is there anything here that would affect Emma financially?" I asked.
"Her college.
Her future."
"That depends on how the asset division proceeds and whether there are any liabilities you're not yet aware of." She looked at me steadily.
"Are there any financial concerns you haven't mentioned?"
I thought about it.
"He handled most of our investments.
I was involved but not closely."
"I'd recommend getting a full financial picture before anything else moves forward.
An independent accountant.
Someone who has never worked with him."
I wrote that down.
"One more question," I said.
"The woman — Patricia Alderson — she's willing to speak to you.
Her husband is also willing."
Rebecca's expression didn't change, but something in her posture settled.
"That's significant," she said.
"I thought it might be."
We talked for another forty minutes.
By the time I left, I had a list of next steps, the name of a forensic accountant, and a clear sense of what the next few months might look like.
I sat in my car in the parking garage and called Linda.
She answered immediately.
"How did it go?"
"Well," I said.
"I need to ask you something."
"Anything."
"Sophie's party is Saturday."
A pause.
"Yes."
"I think Emma should be there."
Silence on the line.
Then, carefully: "Rachel—"
"Not for my sake.
For theirs.
Those girls have eleven years between them.
Whatever Mark did, they didn't do it to each other." I stopped.
"Sophie ended the friendship because she couldn't carry the secret.
But she's been crying for two weeks.
Emma has been sitting on her bedroom floor.
They both deserve better than this."
Linda was quiet for a long moment.
"I would have to talk to Sophie."
"I know."
"She might not be ready."
"I know that too.
But I think she might be more ready than you think."
Another pause.
"Can I call you back tonight?"
"Yes," I said.
"Take all the time you need."
I drove home.
Mark's car was in the driveway.
I sat outside for a moment.
Then I went in.
He was in the kitchen.
He looked up when I came through the door.
"Where were you?"
"Running errands," I said.
He watched me set my bag down.
Hang up my coat.
"Patricia called me this morning," he said.
I turned around.
"She told me she spoke to you yesterday." His voice was careful.
Controlled.
"She told me she's going to cooperate with whatever you decide to do."
"Okay."
"Rachel." He stepped toward me.
"I need you to understand what you're doing.
If you pursue this — if you bring lawyers into it — it affects all of us.
It affects Emma."
"You affected Emma," I said.
"When you went to Linda's house and spoke to Sophie the way you did.
You affected Emma then."
His jaw tightened.
"I can fix this."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I mean it."
I looked at him.
"Mark.
I need you to hear me very clearly." I kept my voice even.
"I am not making any decisions out of anger.
I am not trying to destroy anything.
But I am going to find out the full picture of what has happened in this marriage.
And then I am going to decide what is best for Emma and for me." I paused.
"You don't get to manage that process."
He stared at me.
Then something in his face shifted.
The control slipped.
Just for a moment.
"You've already decided," he said.
"Haven't you."
I didn't answer.
He picked up his keys from the counter.
"I'm going to stay at the Marriott tonight," he said.
"Give you some space."
"Okay."
He walked to the door.
Stopped with his hand on the frame.
"For what it's worth," he said, without turning around, "I did love you.
I do love you.
I know you don't believe that right now."
I looked at the back of his head.
"I believe you believe it," I said.
He left.
The door closed.
I stood in the kitchen for a moment.
Then I went upstairs to Emma's room and knocked.
"Come in."
She was at her desk.
Homework spread out in front of her.
"Mom." She turned around.
Looked at my face.
"What happened?"
"Your dad is going to stay somewhere else for a few nights," I said.
"We're working through some things."
Her face went careful.
Sixteen-year-old careful.
"Is it bad?"
"It's complicated," I said.
"But I want you to know that whatever happens, you are the most important thing.
To me.
Always."
She was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Is it about Sophie?"
I sat down on the edge of her bed.
"Linda called me back," I said.
"Sophie wants to see you."
Emma went very still.
"What?"
"Sophie asked her mom to call you.
She wants to know if you'll come to the party Saturday." I watched my daughter's face.
"She misses you, Emma.
She never stopped."
Emma's eyes filled.
She pressed her lips together hard, the way she'd done since she was small when she was trying not to cry.
"Why did she—"
"There were things happening between adults that got in the way," I said carefully.
"It wasn't about you.
It was never about you.
And Sophie knows that now.
She's known it the whole time."
The first tear came down.
"I thought I did something wrong."
"You didn't.
You didn't do anything wrong."
She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.
I moved to the desk chair and put my arms around her, and she leaned into me the way she had when she was small, and cried properly — the kind of crying that had been waiting for days to happen.
I held her and didn't say anything else.
May you like
Outside the window, it was getting dark.
Saturday was three days away.
