Chapter 8 - The Story He Bought
The lawsuit arrived in a thick envelope.
Thirty-four pages.
Exhibits.
Footnotes.
Statements written in language so formal they almost concealed how cruel they were.
I sat across from Teresa Grant in her office while she explained what each section meant.
Daniel alleged that I had acted as an unauthorized financial operator.
That I had misused nonprofit assets.
That I had manipulated his trust.
And that my accusations of domestic violence were intended to distract investigators.
The complaint described him as a devoted husband.
A respected community leader.
A victim of a coordinated effort to destroy his reputation.
I looked at Teresa.
"Can he just say anything he wants?"
"He can make allegations. He'll have to support them."
"Even when he knows they're lies?"
"Knowingly false statements can have consequences. But our immediate job is to respond carefully."
I turned another page.
There was a photograph of me standing beside a man outside a restaurant.
He was leaning toward me.
My face was turned away from the camera.
The caption identified him as an unknown male companion.
I stared.
"That's Dr. Shah's husband."
Teresa looked up.
"What?"
"His name is Arun. He was helping me carry a box to my car after a community clinic fundraiser."
I almost laughed.
"Daniel was there."
"When?"
"Last spring."
Teresa wrote it down.
"Can Dr. Shah confirm?"
"Probably."
Another page contained an email allegedly sent from my personal account.
Daniel doesn't need to know where the consulting money goes.
I stared at the timestamp.
2:43 a.m.
"I didn't send this."
"Do you recognize the account?"
"Yes."
"Did Daniel know the password?"
"He insisted on having all my passwords."
Teresa nodded.
"We'll request the relevant records through the litigation process and coordinate with investigators where appropriate."
I turned to the final exhibit.
A statement from Evelyn Ross.
She described concerns about my mental health.
She said Daniel had confided that I was becoming erratic.
She claimed to have witnessed me behave unpredictably during a Mercer House event.
I remembered the event.
I had dropped a wineglass.
Daniel had squeezed my wrist beneath the table because he disliked the way I laughed at a donor's joke.
I had pulled away too quickly.
The glass fell.
Evelyn had taken me into the restroom.
"Emily, sweetheart, you're trembling."
I had told her I was tired.
Now she had turned that moment into evidence against me.
I pushed the document away.
"I can't read any more."
"Then we stop," Teresa said.
"What if everyone believes it?"
She waited until I looked at her.
"Emily, we're going to answer the legal allegations with evidence, not with Daniel's rules."
That afternoon, Rachel drove me to a small café.
We ordered grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.
The same lunch Mom used to make when we were sick.
For ten minutes, we talked about nothing important.
The weather.
A neighbor's terrible Halloween decorations.
The Orioles.
Then Rachel said, "There's something I haven't told you."
My stomach tightened.
"Please don't start a sentence like that."
She almost smiled.
"I'm sorry."
"What is it?"
"Hannah contacted me again."
I put down my spoon.
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"She asked me to wait until she spoke with her lawyer."
I stared at her.
"Rachel."
"I know."
"Please don't decide what I can handle."
My sister's face fell.
"You're right."
I took a breath.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize for that."
She reached into her bag.
"Hannah wants to meet you."
I froze.
"Why?"
"She says there's something she needs you to remember."
I thought of Natalie.
The blue door.
The envelope.
"About what?"
"The day you drove Natalie home."
I stared.
"I already told Reed everything."
"Hannah thinks there's more."
"What more?"
Rachel hesitated.
"She says Natalie recorded a conversation with Daniel."
My pulse quickened.
"Where?"
"In his office."
"Does Hannah have it?"
"She doesn't know."
I frowned.
"Then why tell me?"
Rachel leaned closer.
"Because Natalie didn't trust Hannah to keep the original."
I felt a cold sensation move through me.
"Who did she trust?"
Rachel swallowed.
"You."
The meeting took place in a private conference room at Hannah's attorney's office.
Reed attended with permission.
So did Lena.
Hannah Price looked different from the woman I remembered.
Her hair was shorter.
She wore plain black glasses instead of red ones.
And she had the exhausted expression of someone who had spent years looking over her shoulder.
When I entered, she stood.
"Emily."
I stopped in the doorway.
"Hannah."
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she said, "I am so sorry."
I shook my head.
"Why?"
"Because I knew what he was."
I stared at her.
"You tried to tell people."
"Not enough."
"You don't know that."
Her mouth trembled.
"I should have done more."
I sat opposite her.
For a moment, I saw myself.
Another woman carrying guilt that belonged to Daniel.
Hannah opened a folder.
"Natalie found discrepancies in a relocation fund."
"How?"
"She received a letter saying a grant had paid for three months of housing assistance."
"Hadn't it?"
"No. She was told the grant had been exhausted."
I frowned.
"So where did the money go?"
"That's what she wanted to know."
Hannah slid a photograph toward me.
It showed Natalie standing beside a blue door.
Her daughter held the orange fox.
I touched the photograph.
"I remember her."
"She remembered you."
My eyes filled.
"Did she?"
Hannah nodded.
"She said you were the only person connected to Daniel who had looked at her like she was a person instead of a problem."
I covered my mouth.
Hannah waited.
Then she continued.
"Natalie recorded Daniel discussing client files with Martin Bell. She feared they were using some of those files to justify payments for services women never received."
"Was Daniel threatening her?"
"We don't have a complete recording."
"Where is it?"
"That's what I'm hoping you can help us understand."
I shook my head.
"He took the envelope."
"Yes."
"Then he has it."
"Maybe."
Hannah opened a second folder.
Inside was a photocopy of a handwritten note.
If Emily asks about the envelope, tell her to remember the sunflower.
I stared at the words.
The sunflower.
My mug.
My mother's favorite flower.
Hannah watched my face.
"You recognize it?"
I nodded slowly.
"I have a sunflower mug."
"Anything else?"
I thought.
A memory surfaced.
Natalie in my car.
Rain hitting the windshield.
Her daughter asleep behind us.
She had handed me the envelope.
Then she had said something.
Not just a warning about Daniel reading my mail.
Something about my kitchen.
I shut my eyes.
"She asked whether I still kept my mother's things."
Hannah leaned forward.
"What did you say?"
"I told her I had a few boxes."
"Then?"
I saw Natalie's face.
Her tired eyes.
The way she had looked over her shoulder before getting out.
"She said some things are safer when nobody thinks they're important."
I opened my eyes.
"She asked me about the mug."
Hannah went still.
"What mug?"
"The sunflower mug."
I looked at Reed.
"Daniel hated it. He never used it."
Reed's expression sharpened.
"Where is the mug now?"
"In the house."
"Are you certain?"
I nodded.
"I saw it in the sink the night he was arrested."
Hannah pressed both hands together.
Then she whispered, "Natalie was carrying a tiny memory card. She told me she had a safe place for it."
My breath caught.
Reed immediately asked whether Hannah had seen Natalie place anything in the mug or its packaging.
"No," Hannah answered.
"But Natalie knew Emily had kept her mother's kitchen things."
Reed looked at me.
"Emily, don't go back to the house."
"I wasn't going to."
"We'll pursue the appropriate authorization to examine the item."
I nodded.
Then I remembered something else.
Daniel had once thrown that mug against the floor.
He was angry because I had served coffee to Rachel without asking permission for her visit.
I had glued the broken handle back together.
My stomach dropped.
"Wait."
Everyone looked at me.
"The handle."
Reed frowned.
"What about it?"
"It broke three years ago."
I stared at Hannah.
"Right after Natalie gave me the envelope."
Hannah held her breath.
"And?"
"Daniel told me to throw the mug away."
"Did you?"
"No."
I felt a strange, fierce satisfaction rise inside me.
"For once, I didn't do what he told me."
Then Reed's phone buzzed.
He read the message.
His expression changed.
"What?" I asked.
He looked at Hannah.
Then at me.
"Martin Bell has contacted his attorney."
My heart pounded.
"What does he want?"
Reed paused.
"He's offering to cooperate."
I exhaled.
Then Reed continued.
"But he has a condition."
"What condition?"
"He says he won't speak unless prosecutors agree to investigate a death that was ruled accidental."
I felt Hannah stiffen beside me.
"Natalie?"
May you like
Reed nodded.
"And he claims Daniel Mercer knows exactly what happened that night."
