Chapter 5: The Woman in the Photograph
I called Diane Calloway back from the kitchen table, before I could talk myself out of it.
She answered on the second ring.
"Mrs.
Whitmore.
Thank you for calling."
Her voice was steadier than mine would have been.
Measured.
Like someone who had already done the hard work of deciding not to fall apart.
"How did you get my number?" I asked.
"Brandon's mother gave it to me.
About eight months ago." A brief pause.
"She reached out to me first.
She said she had been trying to figure out how to fix what her son had done.
She said she didn't know how to tell you directly.
She thought if she could talk to me first, we could — she used the phrase 'untangle things together.'"
I set my mug down.
"She contacted you," I said.
"Three times.
We met once, in person, at a coffee shop in Chula Vista.
She brought photographs.
Documents.
She wanted me to understand the full picture." Diane's voice shifted slightly.
"She also wanted me to understand that I wasn't the only one he had lied to."
"How old is your daughter?"
A short silence.
"Seven.
Her name is Maya."
I had known the answer before I asked.
The photograph.
The DNA report.
The math.
"Does Brandon know you've contacted me?" I asked.
"He knows I have a lawyer.
He doesn't know about Rosalind.
He doesn't know what she gave me." Another pause.
"He's been telling me for two years that he was going to leave you.
That the marriage was already over.
That he was just waiting for the right moment."
The kettle clicked off behind me.
I didn't move.
"He told you that," I said.
"He told me that every time I asked him to make a decision.
Every time Maya asked about her father." Diane's voice stayed even, but something underneath it had gone tight.
"I believed him for longer than I should have.
I stopped believing him when Rosalind showed me the jewelry receipt."
"The one from Honolulu."
"He bought me a bracelet," she said.
"He bought you something too, didn't he."
It wasn't a question.
"I never saw it," I said.
"I found the receipt before he came home."
"Then he still has it.
Or he returned it." A short breath.
"Mrs.
Whitmore — Lucia — I'm not calling to fight with you.
I want you to know that.
I'm calling because Rosalind asked me to.
She said that when the time came, you and I should not be on opposite sides of this.
She said Brandon was counting on us to be."
I stood up and walked to the window.
Brandon's rental car was not on the street.
But I had no idea where he had gone, and that bothered me more than I expected.
"My lawyer has the USB drive," I said.
"The financial records."
"My lawyer has copies of the same records.
Rosalind made sure of that." Diane paused.
"There's something else.
Something that isn't on the drive.
Something Rosalind told me in person that she said she couldn't write down."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"What did she tell you?"
"She told me Brandon had been planning to contest her will.
That he had already spoken to an attorney about having her declared mentally incompetent — retroactively, if necessary — to void any transfers she made after her stroke."
The room felt like it had tilted slightly.
"He was going to use her illness against her," I said.
"He already started," Diane said.
"His attorney sent a letter to Pendelton's office two weeks before she passed."
I turned away from the window.
"When can you meet?" I asked.
"Tomorrow," she said.
"Whenever you're ready."
I looked at the small silver key still sitting on the kitchen counter where I'd left it the night before.
May you like
"Nine o'clock," I said.
"Bring everything."
