Chapter 6 - The Recording from Miami
I wanted Emily to be wrong.
Not morally wrong.
Factually wrong.
I wanted the recording to be a misunderstanding.
A drunk joke.
A fragment.
Anything except what her expression told me it was.
She stood on my porch while I stared at the phone in her hand.
"When did you record me?"
"I didn't record you on purpose."
She unlocked the screen.
"I was recording a voice note to my friend."
My stomach tightened.
"You were in the background."
"Play it."
She hesitated.
Then she pressed the screen.
Music.
Laughter.
A hotel balcony.
My own voice.
Slurred but unmistakable.
"They'll settle."
I heard myself say.
"Morrison doesn't have the stomach for trial."
Emily's recorded voice laughed.
"You sound so sure."
"I know the numbers."
My skin went cold.
Then another version of me laughed.
"The client thinks we're holding out for eight figures."
Music drowned out a sentence.
Then my voice returned.
"Between you and me, if they offer six, I'm telling him to take it."
The recording ended.
I stared at the phone.
Emily looked sick.
"What does that mean?"
I rubbed my face.
"It means I discussed confidential strategy."
"Is that illegal?"
"It's a serious ethics problem."
"Did it hurt anyone?"
"I don't know."
That answer terrified me most.
The Morrison case involved a medical-device manufacturer.
Our client claimed a defective surgical component had caused permanent injuries.
Settlement discussions were confidential.
Very few people knew our negotiating range.
Emily worked in public relations.
Not for the defendant.
Not for anyone connected to the case, as far as I knew.
But confidentiality didn't care whether the person hearing the information intended harm.
I had talked.
For ego.
To impress her.
To sound powerful.
Emily crossed her arms.
"I didn't understand any of that."
"I know."
"Your lawyers asked if I had recordings referencing firm matters."
I nodded.
"So I told them yes."
"You did the right thing."
She looked stunned.
"That's all you're going to say?"
"What else should I say?"
"I expected you to ask me not to give it to them."
A month earlier, I might have.
That realization made me ashamed.
"You should give them everything."
Emily studied me.
"You've changed fast."
"No."
I looked toward the nursery window upstairs.
"I got caught fast."
She looked away.
For the first time, I noticed how young she seemed.
Emily was thirty.
Old enough to know better than to continue dating a married man if she had known.
But she hadn't.
At least not the truth I was living.
She had known a fictional wife.
A fictional divorce.
A fictional separation.
I had used Clara's name to create sympathy.
I told Emily my marriage had been emotionally dead for years.
I said Clara was controlling.
Cold.
Uninterested in intimacy.
I described arguments that never happened.
I turned a good woman into a villain so another woman would feel comfortable sleeping beside me.
"Emily."
She looked at me.
"I lied about Clara."
"I know."
"No."
I shook my head.
"I need you to understand."
She waited.
"She wasn't cruel to me."
Emily's jaw tightened.
"Okay."
"She didn't make me miserable."
"Okay."
"She didn't refuse to have children."
Emily's eyes changed.
I had told her Clara never wanted children.
That was one of the ugliest lies.
Clara had wanted our son for years.
We had experienced two miscarriages.
I had held her on the bathroom floor after the second.
Then months later, I told Emily my wife didn't want a family.
"I lied about that too."
Emily's eyes filled.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted you to believe I had a reason."
"A reason for what?"
"For becoming the kind of man who would do this."
She looked at me for a long time.
Then she laughed bitterly.
"You made me hate a woman who was pregnant with your child."
I swallowed.
"Yes."
Emily wiped her cheek angrily.
"Do you know what I said about her?"
I didn't answer.
"I called her selfish."
My chest tightened.
"I told you that if she cared about you, she'd let you go."
"I remember."
"She didn't even know you wanted to leave."
"I didn't want to leave."
Emily stared at me.
That was the truth neither woman had deserved.
I hadn't been planning to leave Clara.
I wanted both.
A wife at home who loved me.
A mistress who admired me.
A child who would carry my name.
A career that made me important.
I wanted every room without paying rent in any of them.
Emily shook her head.
"That's worse."
"I know."
"Stop saying you know."
She sounded exactly like Rebecca.
I nodded.
"You're right."
She put her phone away.
"I'll give the recording to the firm."
"You should."
"And all the messages."
"Yes."
She stepped off the porch.
Then stopped.
"There's something else."
My stomach tightened again.
"What?"
"You weren't always drunk when you talked about work."
I stared at her.
Emily continued.
"Sometimes you sent screenshots."
"What screenshots?"
"I don't know."
"Emails."
"Documents."
"You'd send something and say, 'Look at the idiots I deal with.'"
My heart pounded.
"Do you still have them?"
"I haven't deleted anything."
I closed my eyes.
I could almost see my future shrinking.
Suspension.
Termination.
Bar investigation.
Malpractice exposure.
Maybe worse if client information had been compromised.
Emily saw the fear on my face.
"I'm sorry."
I shook my head.
"No."
I looked at her.
"Don't apologize to me."
She nodded slowly.
Then she left.
The next morning, my temporary attorney called.
His name was David Chan.
We had competed against each other in law school.
Now he was representing me in an ethics investigation.
Life has a sense of humor.
"The firm wants a forensic image of your personal phone."
He said.
"Okay."
"Think carefully before you say okay."
"I have nothing else to hide."
David was silent.
"Nathan."
"What?"
"Everyone has something else to hide."
"I mean professionally."
"Then preserve everything."
"I will."
"No deletions."
"I said I will."
He sighed.
"You understand you may have exposed confidential client information?"
"Yes."
"Do not contact any client directly."
"I won't."
"And do not contact Emily except through counsel if it concerns evidence."
"Understood."
"How's Clara?"
The question surprised me.
"Why?"
"Because you sound like hell."
I stared at the kitchen table.
"She's staying with her sister."
"And the baby?"
"Still okay."
"Focus on that."
"I'm trying."
After the call, I checked my messages.
There was one from Rachel.
DOCTOR MOVED HER APPOINTMENT TO TODAY.
SHE'S HAVING MORE CONTRACTIONS.
My chair scraped backward.
I typed:
DOES SHE NEED ME?
Rachel replied almost immediately.
NO.
Then another message appeared.
BUT SHE NEEDS HER INSURANCE INFORMATION.
I stared at it.
Our insurance had always been through my firm.
I logged into the portal.
My access failed.
Suspended employees remained covered temporarily.
But something else caught my eye.
An old notification.
DEPENDENT COVERAGE UPDATE REQUIRED.
I opened it.
Clara's maternity hospital had submitted a preauthorization request two weeks earlier.
It had been flagged.
The reason made my stomach drop.
Coverage change pending.
I called Human Resources.
After several minutes, I reached someone named Denise.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hale."
She said.
"Your coverage is active."
"Then why is my wife's preauthorization flagged?"
Typing.
A pause.
"There's a secondary issue."
"What issue?"
"It appears a request was submitted to remove your spouse from the premium plan effective next month."
I stood.
"What?"
"That request is pending."
"I never submitted that."
Another pause.
"The request was initiated through the partner benefits portal."
My mouth went dry.
"When?"
She gave me the date.
June 3.
I wasn't in the office June 3.
I had been in Miami with Emily.
But someone had used my partner credentials.
"Who submitted it?"
"I'm not able to see the person."
"Can you see the device?"
"No."
"Location?"
"No."
I gripped the counter.
"Cancel it."
"We need identity verification."
"Fine."
She walked me through several steps.
My hands shook.
When the call ended, I immediately phoned Thomas.
"Did the firm change Clara's insurance?"
"What?"
I explained.
Thomas went silent.
"That's impossible."
"Someone used my portal."
"Did you share your login?"
"No."
Then I remembered.
My mother had access to certain financial documents.
Years earlier, when my father was ill, I had given her a folder containing passwords in case something happened to me.
Most were outdated.
Maybe not all.
My blood ran cold.
I called her.
She answered cheerfully.
"Nathan."
"Did you try to remove Clara from my health plan?"
Silence.
That silence gave me the answer before she spoke.
"Nathan, you don't understand."
I gripped the phone.
"What did you do?"
"I thought you were leaving her."
The kitchen seemed to tilt.
"What?"
"You told me months ago that the marriage was complicated."
"I never told you I was divorcing Clara."
"You were seeing Emily."
"That doesn't mean—"
"It meant something."
"No."
I shouted.
"It meant I was cheating."
My mother went quiet.
I forced my voice lower.
"You tried to remove my pregnant wife from health insurance."
"I scheduled it for after the baby was born."
"No."
I looked again at the effective date.
My heart stopped.
"Mom."
"What?"
"The effective date is October first."
Silence.
Clara's due date was October twenty-third.
My mother's voice became small.
"I thought she was due in September."
And in that instant, my rage became something else.
Fear.
Because this wasn't just about an affair anymore.
My lies had created a space where other people felt entitled to make decisions about Clara's life.
May you like
And I had no idea how many decisions had been made behind her back.
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