Chapter 7: Diane
Diane's voice was calm in the way that people are calm when they have spent a long time getting there.
She told me she had been a senior analyst at the Meridian Group when Mark joined the team.
She said it had started the same way Linda described — attention, flattery, persistence.
She said when she ended it, he had called her seventeen times in four days.
"I have the records," she said.
"I kept everything.
I didn't know why at the time.
I think some part of me knew I might need it."
"Did you report it to HR?"
"I did.
They documented it.
They told me they would handle it internally." A pause.
"Two months later I was told my position was being restructured.
I was offered a settlement to leave quietly."
"They pushed you out."
"Yes.
And Mark stayed for another six months before they finally let him go too." Her voice was even.
"I signed something that limited what I could say publicly.
But I never signed anything that said I couldn't speak to his wife."
I was sitting at the kitchen table by then.
I had driven home on autopilot.
The folder from the coat box was open in front of me.
"Diane, I have printed messages and recorded voicemails from Linda.
I have Carrie's account.
I have yours." I stopped.
"Is there anything else I should know before I decide what to do?"
A pause.
"There's one more thing.
I don't know if it matters to you."
"Tell me."
"The firm had a client — a family.
The Aldersons.
Mark handled their account for about a year.
The wife, Patricia Alderson, she and Mark—" Diane stopped.
"I saw them together at a work event.
The way he was with her.
I recognized it immediately because I had seen it from the inside." She paused.
"I don't know if anything happened.
I only know what I saw."
"How long ago?"
"About a year before I left.
So roughly three years ago."
Three years ago.
Emma had been thirteen.
Sophie and Emma had been in eighth grade, trading playlists and planning their futures.
"Thank you," I said.
"For all of this."
"What are you going to do?"
I looked at the folder.
"I'm going to talk to my husband."
"Be careful," Diane said quietly.
"He doesn't respond well when he feels cornered."
I thanked her again and ended the call.
I closed the folder.
I thought about Emma upstairs the night of Sophie's party, sitting on the floor in the dark beside a pale-pink dress.
I thought about Sophie crying for two weeks.
I thought about Diane restructured out of a job she'd earned.
I thought about Carrie transferring departments to get away from him.
I thought about Linda recording voicemails on her phone because she was frightened and didn't know what else to do.
I thought about Mark at the dinner table the night before.
*Are we okay?*
I opened my laptop.
I found the name of a family law attorney.
A woman.
Good reviews.
An office twenty minutes away.
I sent an email requesting a consultation.
Then I went upstairs, changed out of my coat, and started thinking about what I was going to say to Mark that evening.
Not everything.
Not yet.
Just enough to see what he did next.
May you like
Because Diane had said he didn't respond well when he felt cornered.
And I needed to know exactly how he responded before I decided what came after.
