She simply said, “Lauren, listen carefully. Do not meet him alone. Do not answer his calls. Save every message. Photograph your injuries again today in natural light. And bring me every document you have.”
At nine the following morning, I sat opposite her in a modest Alexandria office, my scarf folded in my lap and the injured skin on my face uncovered.
Rebecca looked at my cheek briefly, then opened the file.
That was when her expression shifted.
The change was subtle.
Someone else might not have noticed.
I did.
She examined one page, then another.
Her pen became still.
“Where did you get these?”
“Basement,” I said. “Behind paint cans.”
Rebecca leaned back in her chair.
“Your husband was not just hiding debt from you. He was building a paper trail to make it look like you participated.”
My stomach tightened.
She pointed toward a document printed on Daniel’s company letterhead.
