Chapter 6: What Daniel Said
The voice on the phone was lower than I expected.
Measured.
The kind of voice that knew how to sound reasonable.
"Nathan.
I need an answer."
"I've given you an answer.
Twice."
"The situation has changed."
"Daniel—"
"I'm not calling about the money anymore." A pause.
"I'm calling because someone has been asking questions about you.
About your wife.
About the little girl."
Nathan's jaw tightened.
"What are you talking about?"
"A man came to see me last week.
Said he was a private investigator.
Asked me how long I'd known you, whether you had any history of financial problems, whether your marriage was legitimate." Another pause.
"He had photographs, Nathan.
Of your wife.
Of the child at her school."
My hand tightened around Nathan's.
"Who hired him?" Nathan's voice was very quiet now.
"He wouldn't say.
But he offered me money to sign a statement.
Something about your character.
Your fitness as a — I think the word he used was guardian."
The room felt like it dropped several degrees.
"He wanted you to make a statement about Nathan's fitness as a guardian," I said.
My voice came out steadier than I felt.
"Who is this?" Daniel asked.
"His wife," I said.
"Diane.
What exactly did this man want you to say?"
A brief silence.
"That Nathan had a history of instability.
That he'd been estranged from his own family.
That he wasn't a suitable influence on a child." Daniel's voice shifted slightly — less measured, more uncomfortable.
"I told him I wasn't interested.
I want you to know that."
"Why are you telling us now?" Nathan asked.
"Because he came back yesterday.
And this time he mentioned the girl by name."
Sophie.
Nathan stood up from the table.
He walked to the window and stood with his back to me, and I could see the tension in his shoulders from across the room.
"Did you get his name?" I asked.
"He gave me a card.
I still have it."
"I need that name, Daniel."
A pause.
Then: "His name is Garrett.
Paul Garrett.
The card says he's based out of Portland."
Nathan turned around.
His face was controlled but his eyes were not.
"Send me the card," he said.
"Everything on it."
"Already done.
Check your email." Another pause.
"Nathan.
I didn't sign anything.
I want you to know that."
"I know," Nathan said.
"Thank you."
The call ended.
We sat in silence for a moment.
The kind of silence that has weight.
"Someone hired a private investigator," I said slowly.
"Someone who knows Sophie's name.
Someone who wants to build a case that you're an unfit guardian."
"Yes."
"Who would want to do that?"
Nathan looked at me carefully.
Like he was measuring something.
"Sophie's biological father," he said.
"His name is Creighton.
You know I know about him — you told me he walked away before she was born.
But what you don't know is that two weeks ago, my attorney received a letter.
Creighton is petitioning for parental rights."
The floor felt unsteady.
"He's been gone for twelve years," I said.
"I know."
"He signed away his rights."
"His attorney is claiming the signature was obtained under duress." Nathan sat back down across from me.
"Diane, I didn't tell you because I was trying to get more information before I scared you.
I was wrong to wait.
I'm telling you now."
I stared at him.
"He's trying to take Sophie."
"He's trying to establish legal standing.
It's not the same thing yet." Nathan reached across the table.
"But we need to move fast.
And we need to do it together."
I looked at his hand over mine.
Twelve years of silence.
And now this.
I thought of Sophie on her bike, wobbling at the first cone, steadying herself, pushing through.
May you like
"Tell me everything," I said.
"From the beginning."
