Chapter 5: What Megan Knew
Three weeks later, I was still in a cell when my lawyer came in with a face that told me everything before he opened his mouth.
He sat down across the table in the visitation room and set a folder between us.
"They found Carol," he said.
I didn't move.
"A property in Denton County.
Two acres.
Previous owner was a man named Gerald Foss — your mother's maiden name is Foss." He opened the folder.
"The property transferred to an LLC in 2019.
The LLC has one registered agent." He turned the folder so I could read it.
My name.
My signature.
"They've been building this for three weeks," he said.
"The recording Megan made, the phone records, the property search — it's all connected now."
"What did they find on the property?"
He looked at me for a moment.
"Enough," he said.
Down the hall, a door opened.
I heard voices — two detectives, a woman I didn't recognize.
Through the small reinforced window in the visitation room door, I caught a glimpse of her.
Professional clothes.
A lanyard with a county seal.
"Who is that?"
My lawyer didn't look up.
"Prosecutor's office."
"Already?"
"They've been ready for two weeks." He closed the folder.
"They were waiting to see if you'd talk."
I hadn't talked.
I'd followed his instructions exactly.
Said nothing, signed nothing, confirmed nothing.
It hadn't mattered.
"There's something else." He folded his hands on the table.
"Megan gave a full statement.
Seven hours.
She went through everything — the first year, when things changed, the arguments, what you told her about your first marriage." He paused.
"She also told them about the woman she found in your phone.
A name you'd saved under a restaurant."
I felt the room contract slightly.
"She'd known for eight months," he said.
"She was building her own file.
Dates, screenshots, a notebook she kept at her sister's house." He looked at me steadily.
"She wasn't just a victim, Daniel.
She was a witness.
She'd been preparing to be one."
That was the part I hadn't accounted for.
I had watched for fear.
I had watched for flight.
I had not watched for patience.
"What does the prosecutor want?"
"They're not offering anything.
Not at this stage." He picked up his pen.
"But there's a hearing on Thursday.
The judge will set conditions.
I want you prepared for what you're going to hear in that room."
"Tell me."
He listed it.
The charges came out in sequence, each one landing separately.
The last one — the one connected to the Denton County property — landed differently from the others.
I looked at the table.
"Can you fight it?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"I can do my job," he said.
"But I need you to understand something." He leaned forward slightly.
"Megan's recording.
The voice memo from day three." He paused.
"The prosecution is going to play it in full.
In open court.
In front of a jury."
I said nothing.
"I've heard it," he said quietly.
"All of it." He picked up his briefcase.
"You need to understand what that room is going to feel like when it plays."
He stood up.
Knocked twice on the door for the guard.
"Thursday," he said.
"Eight o'clock.
Be ready."
The door closed.
I sat alone in the visitation room.
The fluorescent light buzzed the same way it had in the interrogation room three weeks ago.
Maybe it was the same light.
Maybe every room in every building like this had the same light, the same sound, the same quality of air that had been breathed too many times.
Megan had known for eight months.
She had sat across from me at dinner.
She had slept in our bed.
May you like
She had watched me install the third deadbolt and said nothing, and all that time she had been building something I couldn't see.
I had underestimated her completely.
