Chapter 8: What Diane Mercer Brought
I showed Owen the message.
He read it twice, then set the phone on the table between us.
"Don't answer tonight," he said.
"She reached out to me, not you.
She could have contacted your lawyer."
"Which means she's not acting through lawyers." He looked at the message again.
"She said she has something that belongs to you.
Not us.
You."
I picked the phone back up.
I typed: *When and where.*
She replied within two minutes.
A coffee shop.
The following morning.
Nine o'clock.
Owen came with me.
He sat at a table near the window while I sat across from Diane Mercer, who turned out to be exactly as Dr.
Marsh had described — late thirties, composed, with the careful eyes of someone who had spent years reading rooms.
She had a manila envelope on the table in front of her.
She didn't touch it when I sat down.
"I want to be clear about why I'm here," she said.
"I'm not here on Evelyn's behalf.
I stopped working on her behalf six weeks ago."
"Why?"
"Because she asked me to do something I wasn't willing to do." She folded her hands.
"When your husband called her three days ago and mentioned Gerald Foss, she contacted me within the hour.
She wanted me to sign a statement saying the clinic letter had been my initiative.
That I had acted without her knowledge or authorization."
I looked at her.
"She wanted you to take the blame."
"Yes."
"And you said no."
"I said no." She slid the envelope across the table.
"This is a full record of every instruction she gave me regarding your fertility treatment.
Emails, dated.
Voicemail transcripts.
The original draft of the clinic letter, in her handwriting, before I typed the final version." She paused.
"I kept copies of everything.
I do that as a matter of professional practice.
I never imagined I'd need to use them like this."
I didn't open the envelope.
I kept my eyes on her.
"Why are you giving this to me?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"I have a daughter.
She's nine." She looked down at her hands.
"When your husband described the treatment delays on that phone call — I was listening on Evelyn's end.
She had me on a call with her when Owen rang through and she switched over, and I heard everything before she realized I was still on the line." She looked up.
"He said you used to turn the cart around in the grocery store."
I didn't say anything.
"I went home that night and I couldn't sleep." She pushed the envelope slightly closer.
"I made a mistake.
I told myself it was legal work.
It was.
Technically.
But I knew what it was for, and I did it anyway, and I'm sorry."
Owen appeared at my shoulder.
He'd seen me go still and crossed the room.
He looked at the envelope.
Then at Diane.
"Is this everything?" he said.
"Everything I have.
Yes."
He picked it up.
"Will you testify to its authenticity if we need you to?"
She met his eyes.
"Yes."
We left the coffee shop with the envelope under Owen's arm.
On the pavement outside he stopped and stood for a moment in the morning light.
"It's enough," he said.
"Gerald will say it's enough."
"It's more than enough." I took his hand.
"She built the whole thing in writing."
He looked at the envelope.
"She was so sure she'd never get caught."
We walked to the car.
Before Owen started the engine, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
"It's Mom," he said.
He let it ring.
It rang four more times.
Then it stopped.
A moment later, a text appeared.
*I've decided I'd like to bring my own attorney to Friday's meeting.*
Owen showed me the screen.
I looked at it for a long moment.
May you like
"Good," I said.
"So has Gerald."
