Chapter 8: What He Did Next
He left the kitchen without another word.
I heard him upstairs — drawers opening, the closet, the sound of a bag being pulled from the shelf.
I sat at the kitchen table and did not move.
The kids were at my mother's for the night, which I had arranged that morning without telling Daniel why.
I had thought of everything I could think of.
I had left him no angle he hadn't already lost.
Or so I believed.
At nine-fifteen that evening my phone rang.
A number I didn't recognize.
I almost didn't answer.
"Is this Olivia?" A man's voice.
Smooth, practiced.
The voice of someone who made calls like this regularly.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Warren Schell.
I'm a partner at Meridian Legal Group.
I've been retained by your husband."
I said nothing.
"Mrs.
— Olivia.
I think there may have been some miscommunication tonight.
Daniel is understandably upset.
He's asked me to reach out as a first step, to see if there's any possibility of a conversation before things escalate formally."
"Things have already escalated formally," I said.
"My attorney filed this afternoon."
A brief pause.
"I see.
Well.
In that case, I want to make sure you're aware of a few things before this moves forward."
"I'm listening."
"Daniel has significant concerns about the source of certain materials you may have been given.
He believes those materials were obtained and shared in a way that could create legal complications for the person who provided them."
My hand tightened on the phone.
He was going after Kristin.
"He also wants me to convey," Warren Schell continued, "that he's prepared to be cooperative and reasonable — but that cooperation works both ways.
There are aspects of your joint finances and certain decisions made during the marriage that he feels would benefit from a fuller examination."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a context," he said pleasantly.
"Tell your client," I said, "that my attorney's name is Patricia Greer.
All further communication goes through her."
I ended the call.
I sat for a moment.
Then I called Patricia.
She picked up on the second ring.
"He retained Warren Schell," I said.
A short pause.
"Fast."
"He's threatening Kristin.
Saying the records were obtained improperly."
"They weren't.
She kept her own messages.
She's entitled to them." Patricia's voice was unhurried.
"He's rattling.
Schell is good at rattling.
Don't let it work."
"He mentioned the joint finances.
Said there were decisions during the marriage that would benefit from examination."
"Let him examine.
We've already pulled the records.
If he's moved anything, we'll see it." A pause.
"Olivia.
He's scared.
Scared people reach for anything.
This is what it looks like when someone realizes they've lost the advantage."
I looked at the ceiling.
Upstairs, the sounds had stopped.
Daniel was either packed or sitting in the dark.
"What do I do tonight?" I asked.
"Nothing," Patricia said.
"Let him make the next move.
Scared people always do."
We hung up.
At ten forty-five, Daniel came downstairs with a bag over his shoulder.
He stopped in the kitchen doorway.
"I'll be at the Marriott," he said.
"All right."
He looked at me sitting at the table.
He looked like he wanted to say something — something that would change the shape of the room, something that would make me stand up and tell him we could fix it.
"I really didn't think you'd do this," he said.
"You said that already."
He nodded once.
He walked to the front door.
He opened it.
Then he turned back, and what he said next was not remorse and not an apology.
It was a warning dressed in a quiet voice.
"You should know," he said, "that I'm not going to make this easy."
The door closed behind him.
I sat in the silent kitchen and thought about a folder full of printed messages sitting in Patricia Greer's office.
I thought about Kristin Hale backing up screenshots to two separate locations.
I thought about Dana, who had seen something wrong six months ago and had been patient enough to wait until I was ready to see it too.
I thought about what Patricia had said.
*Scared people always make the next move.*
My phone lit up on the table.
A message from a number I didn't recognize — not Warren Schell this time, a different number entirely.
The message was four words.
*Tell her to look.*
I stared at it.
Then I forwarded it to Patricia with one line: *This just came in.
Do you know what it means?*
She replied in under a minute.
*Yes.
Don't respond.
May you like
I'll explain in the morning.
This just got more interesting.*
