Chapter 5: The Recording
I sat in the car for thirty seconds.
Then I got out, walked back up the path, and opened the front door without knocking.
Diane and the woman were still at the table.
The notepad was still open.
They both looked up when I came in, and Diane's expression moved from surprise to something more guarded.
"I forgot something," I said.
I set my bag on the counter again and made a show of looking through it slowly.
"There's nothing left here for you," Diane said.
"Just give me a moment."
My phone was in my jacket pocket, screen facing inward, already recording.
I had started it in the car.
"You should leave," the woman said.
First time she'd spoken directly to me.
Her voice was flat, professional in a way that felt rehearsed.
"I will.
I just wanted to ask one more question." I looked at Diane.
"The story you mentioned — the one about concealed marital assets — what exactly would it take for that not to run?"
Diane tilted her head slightly.
"That depends on how the divorce proceeds."
"Meaning if I make the divorce difficult, the story runs.
And if I don't, it doesn't."
"I'm saying that reasonable people find reasonable solutions."
"And if I agreed to walk away from the divorce settlement entirely — no claims, no proceedings — the story disappears?"
Diane picked up her tea.
"I think that would be a very sensible outcome."
I zipped my bag.
"Thank you," I said.
"That's all I needed."
I left for the second time.
In the car, I stopped the recording and called Claire.
"I have it," I said.
A longer pause this time.
"All of it?"
"Her saying the story depends on how the divorce proceeds.
Her saying reasonable people find reasonable solutions.
Her confirming that if I walked away from the settlement, it would disappear."
"That's extortion," Claire said.
Her voice had changed — sharper, more focused.
"That's not a civil matter anymore.
That's a criminal one."
"I know."
"I need to make a call before we do anything with this.
Don't send it to anyone yet.
Don't tell Eric you have it."
"What kind of call?"
"The kind that means Diane won't be sitting at anyone's kitchen table making threats for a very long time."
I looked at the front of the house through the windscreen.
The curtain in the front room moved slightly.
Someone had been watching me walk back to the car.
I started the engine.
That evening, Claire called back.
She had spoken to a contact at the Crown Prosecution Service.
The recording was clean, the threat was explicit, and there was enough for a formal complaint.
But Claire wanted to wait — not long, just long enough to gather one more thing.
"Eric's attorney sent a second letter today," she said.
"They're claiming Eric made significant non-financial contributions to the property.
Emotional labor.
Domestic support.
They're going to argue the prenup should be set aside on grounds of unconscionability."
"Emotional labor," I repeated.
"I know."
"He didn't cook a meal in three years, Claire."
"I know that too.
Which is why I need you to think carefully.
Is there anyone — a neighbor, a colleague, anyone — who visited the house regularly enough to speak to what the domestic arrangement actually looked like?"
I thought for a moment.
May you like
"Yes," I said.
"There is someone."
