Chapter 6: What Brandon Knew
Douglas called at seven-fifteen the next morning.
I was already dressed.
"He filed a supplemental motion at midnight," Douglas said.
"His attorneys attached a declaration from Dr.
Parrish."
I set down my coffee cup.
"What kind of declaration?"
"Parrish is claiming that you approached him privately during the marriage.
That you asked him to withhold certain information from Brandon.
That the fertility diagnosis was — " Douglas paused.
"That it was more complex than what Brandon was told.
That there were results he was never given."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"That's not true," I said.
"I know."
"I never spoke to Parrish outside of appointments.
Brandon was present for every significant conversation."
"I know that too.
But Parrish has signed a declaration.
And Brandon's team is using it to argue that you manipulated the medical information to gain sympathy and advantage in the divorce proceedings."
I sat down.
"He got to Parrish," I said.
"It looks that way.
Parrish retired eight months ago.
He's no longer under hospital oversight." Douglas's voice was steady.
"This is what Brandon meant in the voicemail.
He found a way to flip the narrative.
Instead of him using your diagnosis — you used it.
That's the story he's trying to build."
"Can he make it stick?"
"Not if we move quickly.
The hospital has records of every appointment, every conversation, every note Parrish filed during your treatment.
Those records will contradict the declaration on at least four specific points." A pause.
"But I need authorization to subpoena them.
And I need it today, before Brandon's team files anything else."
"You have it.
Whatever you need."
"There's one more thing." Douglas took a breath.
"Parrish's declaration mentions a second doctor.
A Dr.
Renata Voss.
It claims she was aware of the withheld information and can corroborate Parrish's account."
My hand tightened around the phone.
Renata Voss was not just any doctor.
She was a colleague.
She had the office two doors down from mine.
We had eaten lunch together twice a week for six years.
"Renata wouldn't," I said.
"Gwen — "
"She wouldn't.
She has no reason to.
She was never involved in my treatment."
"I understand.
But her name is in the declaration.
Which means Brandon's team has either spoken to her, or they're bluffing and hoping you'll react." Douglas paused.
"Either way, you cannot speak to her today.
Not until I know which it is."
I looked at the wall across from me.
At the small framed photograph I had hung there two years ago — a picture of the ocean, taken on a trip I had taken alone the summer after the divorce.
I had bought it because it was calm.
Because I needed something on the wall that was only calm.
"What do I do today?" I asked.
"Go to work.
See your patients.
Do not speak to Renata, do not speak to Brandon, do not speak to anyone about this case.
Let me work." A pause.
"And Gwen — if Brandon contacts you again, save it.
Don't delete it."
I thought about the voicemail I had deleted the night before.
"Understood," I said.
I drove to the hospital.
I saw six patients.
I attended a department meeting.
I ate lunch at my desk.
At two-seventeen, I passed Renata in the hallway near the elevator bank.
She smiled at me.
The same smile as always — quick and warm, with the slight distraction of someone whose mind is already on the next thing.
"Coffee later?" she said.
"Can't today," I said.
"Catching up on charts."
"Tomorrow then."
"Tomorrow," I agreed.
She walked on.
I watched her go.
I could not tell, from that smile, whether she had spoken to anyone.
Whether her name in that declaration was a bluff or a betrayal.
Whether I was looking at a friend or at the next piece of the thing Brandon was building against me.
That was the worst part of what he did — not the legal maneuver, not the false declaration, not even Parrish's signature on a lie.
The worst part was the doubt.
He had put her name in a document, and now every ordinary thing she did — a smile, a wave, an invitation for coffee — carried a question I couldn't ask.
Douglas called at four-fifty.
"I have the hospital records authorization," he said.
"And I spoke to the records department.
They can have the relevant files ready by end of business tomorrow."
"Good."
"There's something else." His voice shifted slightly.
"I made some calls about Parrish.
Quietly.
He has a son.
The son has a business.
Brandon's firm provided financing for that business eight months ago.
Right around the time Parrish retired."
The hallway outside my office was empty.
"He bought him," I said.
"It appears that way.
Which means the declaration isn't just false — it's purchased.
And if we can document the financial connection, it becomes something much more serious than a civil dispute."
I understood what Douglas was not quite saying.
"How serious?" I asked.
"Serious enough that Brandon's attorneys may not have known what their client was doing when he approached Parrish.
Serious enough that when they find out, they may have a problem of their own." A pause.
"I need one more day, Gwen.
Can you hold?"
"I've been holding for a year," I said.
"One more day is nothing."
But that evening, when I pulled into my driveway, there was a car parked across the street that I didn't recognize.
Dark.
Engine off.
Someone sitting in the driver's seat.
I went inside without looking directly at it.
I locked the door.
I stood in my hallway in the dark for a moment.
Then I took out my phone and photographed the car through the window.
I sent it to Douglas with three words: *Car outside.
Watching.*
His reply came in forty seconds.
*I see it.
Don't go back out.
I'm making a call.*
I didn't sleep well that night.
May you like
But I slept.
And in the morning, the car was gone.
