Chapter 5: What Diane Knew
"How did you get my number?" I asked.
"Claire gave it to me," Diane said.
"A long time ago.
She used to give it to people she trusted, in case — in case she ever needed someone to call on her behalf." A pause.
"She doesn't know I'm calling you."
I walked to the back of the house, away from the front windows out of habit.
"Tell me who you are."
"I'm a paralegal.
I work at the firm where Ethan is a client." Her voice dropped.
"I've been doing work on his account for about eight months.
Last week he asked me to prepare a document that I wasn't comfortable with.
I asked my supervisor about it.
My supervisor told me to process it and not ask questions." Another pause.
"So I'm asking you instead."
"What kind of document?"
"A transfer of assets.
From a joint account — yours and your husband's, Mrs.
Calloway, not Claire's — into a private trust."
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Say that again."
"Ethan is listed as the managing trustee of a private trust that was established in February.
The trust is named as a beneficiary in a document that references an account held in your and your husband's names." She spoke carefully, like someone reading from notes.
"I don't know how he obtained access to that account.
I only know what was in the paperwork I was given."
My hands had gone cold.
"How much?" I said.
"The transfer amount listed was $340,000."
The room didn't change.
The light through the curtains was the same.
The sound of the neighbor's lawnmower was the same.
Everything was exactly the same and completely different.
"Mrs.
Calloway?"
"I'm here." I pressed my free hand flat against my knee.
"Diane, why are you telling me this?"
"Because Claire is my friend," she said simply.
"We met in a yoga class three years ago.
She doesn't know what Ethan has been doing.
I'm certain of that.
And I think—" She hesitated.
"I think he's been planning something for a long time.
The account in March.
This trust.
There are other documents I've seen that I can't talk about.
But the direction of all of it is the same."
"What direction?"
"He's moving money.
Systematically.
Into places Claire can't see and can't access." Her voice was steady but I could hear the effort behind it.
"I think he's been building an exit."
I thought about Claire's hands.
White on the table edge.
*It costs less than the alternative.*
"Diane," I said.
"I need you to be very careful.
Does Ethan know you called me?"
"No."
"Does anyone at the firm know?"
"No."
"Keep it that way.
Don't process that document until you hear from me.
Can you do that?"
"I can stall for a few days.
Maybe a week."
"That's enough." I stood up.
"Don't call this number again.
I'll get a message to you through Claire's friend — there's a woman named Patrice who Claire trusts.
Do you know her?"
"Yes."
"Good.
Through Patrice only.
Nothing in writing."
After I hung up, I sat for a long moment with the phone in my lap.
Then I called Daniel and moved our lunch to Tuesday.
Frank came home from his walk twenty minutes later, cheeks red from the cold, in a good mood, asking if we had any of the good coffee left.
I looked at my husband — sixty-four years old, kind, completely unaware that someone had been quietly reaching into the life we'd built together — and I made a decision.
I would tell him everything.
But first I needed to know how much there was to tell.
"The good coffee's in the cabinet," I said.
"Sit down when you're done.
I need to talk to you about something."
He looked at my face and stopped smiling.
"How bad?" he said.
May you like
"I don't know yet," I said.
"But I think we need Daniel."
