Chapter 5: What Diane Wanted to Say
I did not respond to Diane's message that day, or the next.
On the third day, Carol called me at noon.
"Diane Keller has retained her own attorney," she said.
"Someone named Patricia Wohl.
Wohl reached out to me this morning.
Diane is prepared to provide a statement to Detective Harmon's office.
In exchange for consideration on the charges."
"She wants a deal."
"She wants to give up Grant."
I stood in the hallway outside my office at Fort Liberty and let that settle.
"She would testify against her own son," I said.
"She would position the entire scheme as Grant's idea, with herself as a reluctant participant who was pressured and misled." Carol's voice was dry.
"It's a familiar strategy."
"Do you believe it?"
"I believe the recording shows her telling Russell Pratt that Grant needed to sign that night, before I had time to talk to anyone.
That doesn't sound like a woman who was pressured." A pause.
"But prosecutors will weigh what she offers against what they already have.
It's not my decision."
"What's yours?"
"My decision is to protect your interests.
Which means making sure that whatever deal Diane negotiates does not reduce your ability to recover the $186,000, the property, and damages."
"Can you do that?"
"Already started," Carol said.
That evening I was in my kitchen making dinner when the doorbell rang.
I looked through the side window before opening it.
Diane stood on my porch.
No sequined gown tonight.
A gray cardigan, dark slacks, her hair pulled back.
She looked smaller than she had in the ballroom.
Or maybe I was just seeing her differently now.
I opened the door but did not step back to let her in.
"Carol told you not to contact me directly," I said.
"I know." Diane's voice was steady but her hands weren't.
She held them clasped in front of her, and the knuckles were pale.
"I needed to say something to you myself.
Not through attorneys."
"Diane—"
"Please." It was a word I had never heard her use before.
Not once in six years of marriage to her son.
"Five minutes."
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I stepped back.
She came in and stood in the entryway.
She didn't move toward the kitchen or the living room.
She just stood there, looking at the house the way someone looks at a place they expected to own.
"I want you to know," she started, "that the original plan was never to hurt you."
"What was the original plan?"
She met my eyes.
"To protect Grant.
He made poor decisions.
Financial ones.
Before you were married.
Debts I didn't want following him into the marriage."
"So you used my house to cover his debts."
"I used the equity to stabilize things.
I told myself you'd never know.
That the marriage would work out and it would all—" She stopped.
"It sounds worse when I say it out loud."
"It sounds exactly as bad as it is," I said.
Diane looked at the floor.
"Grant didn't plan the humiliation at the ball.
That was my idea.
I thought if we served you publicly, in front of your colleagues, you'd be too ashamed to fight back."
The room was very quiet.
"You thought I'd be embarrassed into giving up my house," I said.
"I thought you'd want it to be over quickly." She looked up.
"I didn't know about the investigation.
I didn't know you'd already been to the bank."
"You didn't know because you underestimated me."
She didn't argue that.
"Grant doesn't know I'm here," she said.
"His attorney has told him not to speak to anyone.
But I needed to—" She stopped again.
Started over.
"I have a granddaughter.
Grant's daughter from before you.
She's seven.
Whatever happens to Grant, whatever happens to me, she's going to grow up knowing what her father did.
What I helped him do."
"That's not my problem to solve, Diane."
"No." Her voice was very quiet.
"It isn't."
She reached into her cardigan pocket and set something on the entryway table.
A small USB drive.
"Everything is on there," she said.
"The original loan documents.
The communications with Pratt.
The account records showing where the money went and when.
Grant's instructions to me, in writing, from four years ago." She looked at me steadily.
"I kept copies of everything.
I don't know why.
I think I always knew it might end this way."
I looked at the drive.
I didn't touch it.
"You need to give that to Detective Harmon," I said.
"Through your attorney."
"I know.
I will." She moved toward the door.
"I just wanted you to have it first.
So you'd know it was real before the lawyers turned it into a transaction."
She opened the door herself.
"Natalie." She paused with her hand on the frame.
"I am sorry.
I know that's worth nothing to you right now."
"It's worth something," I said.
"Just not enough."
She nodded once.
And left.
I stood in the entryway for a long time after her car pulled away.
The USB drive sat on the table.
Small.
Unremarkable.
The kind of thing you'd use to back up a recipe file or a presentation.
I called Carol.
"Diane was just here," I said.
A pause.
"I'm going to need you to tell me everything she said.
Slowly."
I did.
When I finished, Carol was quiet for a moment.
"The drive," she said.
"Don't touch it again.
I'm sending a courier tonight."
"She said Grant gave her written instructions.
Four years ago."
"If that's true," Carol said, "then Grant didn't just know.
Grant started it."
Outside, a car passed slowly on the street.
Its headlights swept across the wall of the entryway and disappeared.
I looked at the drive one more time.
"Carol," I said.
"How long before this is over?"
May you like
"Faster now," she said.
"Much faster now."
