Chapter 7: What Diane Knew
She met Diane the next morning at a coffee shop on Washington Avenue, far enough from the Northwood district that there was no chance of running into anyone who knew either of them.
Diane was already there when Margaret arrived.
She looked different in daylight — younger, and more frightened.
She was wearing a plain gray jacket and no champagne.
Her hands were wrapped around a coffee cup she hadn't drunk from.
Margaret sat down across from her without greeting.
"You said there are things I don't know."
Diane nodded.
"I almost didn't message you.
I went back and forth all night."
"But you did."
"Because what he's doing isn't just wrong.
It's—" She stopped.
Started again.
"I need you to understand that I'm not a good person in this story.
I knew he was married.
I found out after the second month and I stayed anyway because I was stupid and I thought—" She shook her head.
"It doesn't matter what I thought.
What matters is what I found out three weeks ago."
"Tell me."
Diane reached into her bag and pulled out a folded envelope.
She set it on the table between them.
"Walter asked me to hold onto some documents.
He said they were sensitive work papers and he didn't want them at home or at the office.
He said I was the only person he trusted." She looked at the envelope.
"I believed him.
I put them in my desk drawer and I didn't look at them for two weeks."
"And then you looked."
"And then I looked."
Margaret opened the envelope.
Inside were three documents.
The first was a property deed.
A condominium in Scottsdale, Arizona.
The buyer's name was Walter Crane.
The purchase date was fourteen months ago.
The purchase price was listed at the bottom of the page.
"He bought a property," Margaret said.
"In cash.
Or close to it.
The deed shows no mortgage."
Margaret looked at the second document.
A utilities account setup confirmation.
The service address was the Scottsdale condominium.
The account holder was Walter Crane.
The secondary account holder listed was Diane Marsh.
Diane's name.
Margaret looked up.
"He put your name on the utilities."
"Without telling me." Diane's voice was tight.
"I found my own name on that document and I had never signed anything, never agreed to anything.
He did it without my knowledge."
"Why would he do that?"
"I think—" Diane paused.
"I think he was planning to tell me about the property as a surprise.
As a way of keeping me.
And I think he was going to present it as something we were building together." She looked at her coffee cup.
"But that's not the part that matters."
Margaret looked at the third document.
It was a letter.
Handwritten, on plain paper, in Walter's handwriting.
She recognized it immediately — the slight leftward slant, the way he formed his capital letters.
It was addressed to a name she didn't recognize.
*Dear Richard,*
*By the time you read this, the transfer should be complete.
The remaining amount will follow within sixty days of my relocation.
I appreciate your patience and your discretion.
Margaret will not contest anything once she understands the full picture.
She is not the type to fight.*
*— W*
Margaret read the letter twice.
She is not the type to fight.
She folded the letter carefully and placed it back in the envelope.
"Who is Richard?" she asked.
"I don't know," Diane said.
"I've never heard Walter mention that name."
"When did you find these?"
"Three weeks ago.
I confronted Walter immediately.
He told me the letter was old, that the plans had changed, that he wasn't going anywhere." Diane's hands tightened around her cup.
"But then yesterday — after you came to the apartment — he called me.
He was panicking.
He told me to destroy those documents."
Margaret looked at her steadily.
"But you didn't."
"No." Diane met her eyes.
"Because whatever I am, I'm not going to help him do this to you."
The coffee shop hummed around them.
Someone laughed at the counter.
A chair scraped.
Margaret picked up the envelope and placed it in her own bag.
"I'm going to need to give these to my attorney," she said.
"She'll need originals."
"I know.
That's why I brought them."
Margaret stood.
She looked at Diane for a moment — this young woman who had made poor choices and was now trying, late and imperfectly, to make one right one.
"Why did you stay?" Margaret asked.
"After you found out he was married."
Diane looked at the table.
"I told myself it was complicated.
That he was unhappy.
That I was different from what he had at home." She paused.
"I was twenty-four years old and I was foolish.
I'm not asking you to forgive me."
"Good," Margaret said.
"Because I'm not there yet."
She walked to the door.
Outside, she called Patricia from the sidewalk.
"File the freeze," she said.
"Right now.
And I have three documents you need to see today.
One of them is a property deed for a cash-purchase condominium in Scottsdale.
Another is a handwritten letter to someone named Richard.
Walter wrote that I would not contest anything." She paused.
"He was wrong about that."
Patricia's voice was quiet for a moment.
Then: "I'll call the office.
May you like
Come straight here."
Margaret was already walking to her car.
