Chapter 5: Her Name Was Donna
Diane called at seven-fifteen the next morning.
I was sitting at Maya's kitchen table with both hands around a coffee mug, still in the clothes I'd worn the night before.
I hadn't slept more than two hours.
"Patrice sent everything," Diane said.
"I've been through it.
Claire, it's substantial."
"How substantial?"
"The transfers go back five years.
The total is somewhere between sixty and eighty thousand dollars, moved in increments small enough to avoid automatic flags.
The Racine lease is in Ryan's name.
The children are four and six years old." A pause.
"The woman's name is Donna Hale."
I set the mug down.
"Does she know about me?"
"That's less clear.
Based on the emails Patrice included — yes.
She knew Ryan was married.
Whether she knew the full extent of what he was taking from your joint finances is harder to say."
Maya came in from the hallway, saw my face, and sat down across from me without speaking.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"I've already contacted the financial crimes unit.
Given the structure of the transfers — deliberately kept under reporting thresholds, which is itself a federal flag — there's enough here for them to open a preliminary review." Diane's voice was measured, careful.
"This moves beyond divorce proceedings, Claire.
I want you to understand that."
"I understand."
"Ryan will likely be contacted by end of week.
When that happens, he will know that someone provided documentation.
He will almost certainly assume it was you."
"It wasn't."
"I know.
But he won't believe that." A short pause.
"Is there anyone in your life he might try to pressure?
Family, a colleague, someone he thinks he can use to get to you?"
My mother's text from the night before was still on my phone, unread since I'd turned it face-down.
"Possibly," I said.
"Be careful with those relationships for now.
Don't share details.
Don't tell anyone where you're staying."
After I hung up, Maya poured herself coffee and sat back down.
"How bad?" she said.
"Bad enough that it's not just a divorce anymore."
She nodded slowly.
"What do you need to do today?"
"I need to call my job.
I need to get my car — it's still at the apartment." I stopped.
"And I need to decide what to do about my parents."
Maya wrapped both hands around her mug.
"What are you thinking?"
"My mother called Ryan last night.
She told him about the account.
She thought she was protecting my marriage." I looked at the table.
"She wasn't protecting my marriage.
She was protecting her idea of what my marriage should look like."
"Have you talked to her since?"
"She texted.
Said I'd done something foolish.
Said I should go back and talk to him when things calmed down."
Maya was quiet for a moment.
"She doesn't know what he did," she said finally.
"Not the real version."
"No."
"Are you going to tell her?"
I picked the mug back up.
The coffee had gone lukewarm.
"Not yet," I said.
"Right now I need her to stay out of it.
If I tell her everything, she'll either defend him or she'll fall apart, and I can't manage either of those things this week."
Maya nodded.
She didn't push.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Not my mother this time.
Ryan.
I stared at his name on the screen.
Maya watched me.
It rang five times and went to voicemail.
Thirty seconds later, a text arrived.
*We need to talk.
Not about last night.
About something you don't know yet.
It's important, Claire.
Call me back.*
I showed it to Maya.
She read it twice.
Her expression didn't change.
"He knows Patrice talked," she said.
"Or he's guessing."
"Either way, he's scared." She set the phone back on the table.
"Scared people do unpredictable things."
I knew she was right.
May you like
What I didn't know was that Ryan had already made his first move — and it hadn't been aimed at me.
It had been aimed at Patrice.
