Chapter 3: The Woman Who Knew Too Much
I called the number from the back of the sedan while Richard drove.
It rang twice.
"Claire." The voice was a woman's.
Careful.
Like someone who had rehearsed what she was about to say and was already second-guessing it.
"Who is this?"
A pause.
"My name is Donna.
I work at Riverside Women's Health.
I was Kelsey's intake coordinator."
Richard's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror.
I kept my voice flat.
"Why are you calling me?"
"Because I've been carrying something for four months and I can't carry it anymore." Another pause, longer this time.
"The baby isn't Evan's."
The sedan moved through an intersection.
A traffic light turned green.
Somewhere outside, a horn sounded.
"Say that again," I said.
"Kelsey came in for her initial appointment in February.
Evan was listed as the father.
But there were forms — insurance forms — and she listed a different name on the secondary contact.
A man named Marcus Hale." Donna's voice dropped.
"I've seen it before.
Women who aren't sure.
Women who are hoping one answer is true and terrified the other one might be."
"Did she have a paternity test?"
"Not through us.
But she requested a referral for one in March.
Private lab.
I don't know the result."
I looked out the window.
We were on the highway now, the courthouse long behind us.
"Why tell me this?"
"Because I saw the photograph," Donna said.
"The one Evan posted outside the courthouse this morning.
He tagged it.
'Starting our new chapter.' And I thought — that woman deserves to know what she's walking into."
The line went quiet for a moment.
"If the baby isn't his," Donna said, "then everything he did to you — the house, the money, the whole performance today — it was all built on something that isn't even real."
I thanked her.
I ended the call.
Richard didn't ask.
He had heard enough from the front seat.
"Marcus Hale," I said quietly.
"Can you find him?"
"Give me an hour."
I set the phone face-down on my knee.
Outside, the city moved past in grey and silver.
I thought about Evan's face on those courthouse steps.
The swagger.
The photographer.
The performance of a man who believed he had already won.
He had been so certain.
That certainty was the first thing I was going to take from him.
Richard's phone rang through the car speakers before we reached the office.
He answered on the first ring.
"Richard." The voice on the other end was clipped, professional.
His paralegal, Grace.
"Evan's attorney just filed an emergency motion.
They're claiming the asset disclosure was incomplete on Claire's side.
They want to reopen the financial review."
Richard's jaw tightened.
"On what grounds?"
"They're saying she has a business interest that wasn't declared.
A consulting arrangement."
I sat forward.
"That's not true."
"I know," Richard said.
"Grace, pull everything.
Every invoice, every contract, every email.
I want it on my desk before four o'clock."
"Already started," Grace said.
"But Richard — there's something else.
Evan's attorney cc'd the family court judge on the motion.
Not standard procedure."
The sedan went quiet.
"He's trying to embarrass her publicly," Richard said.
"Before she can move."
"That's what it looks like."
I looked at Richard.
He looked at me.
"He knows," I said.
"He knows we found the accounts."
Richard nodded once, slowly.
"Then we don't wait until tomorrow."
He picked up his own phone and dialed.
I listened to it ring.
Once.
Twice.
On the third ring, someone answered.
"This is Special Agent Carver," the voice said.
May you like
Richard didn't hesitate.
"We're ready to move."
