Chapter 6: What Dana Knew
Dana Reyes arrived at Phoebe's office on a Wednesday afternoon carrying a tote bag, a coffee she hadn't touched, and the expression of a woman who had spent forty-eight hours deciding something and was no longer deciding.
I was there.
Phoebe had asked if I wanted to be present, and I had said yes without hesitating.
Dana was thirty-four.
She had worked for Flynn for six years — longer than I had known him.
She sat down across the conference table, set her coffee to the side, and placed the tote bag on the table without opening it.
"Before I say anything," she said, "I want to be clear about why I'm here."
"Go ahead," Phoebe said.
"I'm not here because of the legal exposure.
I mean — yes, that's part of it.
But I'm here because of what I saw in that hospital." She looked at me directly.
"I was in the corridor.
I saw him bring her in.
I saw your face when he walked to your bed." She stopped.
"I've worked for Flynn Vance for six years.
I have done things I'm not proud of.
But I watched him do that to you, and I went home that night and I couldn't sleep."
The room was quiet.
"Okay," I said.
She opened the tote bag.
Inside were two accordion folders, thick with paper, and a small external hard drive.
"The transfers to Selina start earlier than what you found," she said to Phoebe.
"The first one was eleven months before the wedding."
I heard Phoebe set down her pen.
"He was supporting her before he proposed to you," Dana said, looking at me.
"I set up the account.
He told me it was for a consulting arrangement.
I didn't ask questions.
I should have."
"How long did you know what it actually was?" I asked.
Dana didn't look away.
"About eight months into your marriage.
He stopped pretending with me around that time.
He just — stopped explaining.
He'd give me an amount and an account number and I'd process it."
"Every month?"
"Every month.
Sometimes more." She slid one of the folders across the table.
"It's all in there.
Dates, amounts, account numbers, the shell company structure.
And—" she hesitated.
"There's more than the money."
Phoebe opened the folder.
I watched her eyes move across the first page.
"These are messages," Phoebe said.
"Between Flynn and his attorney," Dana said.
"His personal attorney, not the firm's.
They were discussing the trust structure.
Specifically—" she paused, "—how to challenge it after the divorce was filed.
They were planning the counter-move before you made your move."
I went very still.
"When were these sent?"
"The first one was three weeks ago," Dana said.
"Before you gave birth."
Three weeks ago.
While I was still pregnant.
While Flynn was still coming home to our apartment, sitting across from me at dinner, asking how I was feeling.
"He was already planning the divorce," I said.
"He was planning to file first," Dana said.
"His attorney advised him that if he filed before you did, and framed it as irreconcilable differences, he could argue the trust structure was being used punitively and petition to have your trustee authority reviewed."
"He was going to try to remove me as trustee," I said.
"Yes.
Before you could act."
Phoebe looked up from the folder.
"Why didn't he?"
Dana's mouth tightened.
"Because Selina went into early labor with the second pregnancy three weeks ago and was hospitalized.
He was distracted.
The filing got delayed." She paused.
"And then you gave birth.
And then you moved first."
The second pregnancy.
I heard the words.
I processed them.
I kept my face exactly where it was.
"She's pregnant again," I said.
"Seven months," Dana said quietly.
"Another boy, from what I understand."
Phoebe closed the folder.
She looked at me carefully.
I looked at the hard drive on the table.
Then at Dana.
"Is everything on that drive?"
"Everything I have access to," Dana said.
"Emails.
Transfer records.
The attorney correspondence.
Two recordings."
"Recordings," Phoebe said.
"Phone calls.
Flynn didn't know I had a second line active during conference calls.
It was standard practice for taking minutes.
He stopped caring that I was in the room a long time ago." She looked at her hands.
"People say things when they stop seeing the person in front of them."
Phoebe reached for the drive.
"I'll need to have these authenticated."
"I know," Dana said.
"I'll sign whatever you need."
I looked at Dana across the table.
She was waiting — not for gratitude, I didn't think, but for something.
A verdict, maybe.
Some indication of what she was to me now.
"Why did you stay?" I asked.
"Six years.
If you knew."
Dana was quiet for a moment.
"Because I told myself it wasn't my marriage.
It wasn't my business.
I had a job, and I did it." She looked up.
"I've been telling myself that for a long time.
It got harder to believe."
I nodded.
I didn't tell her it was all right.
It wasn't all right.
But she was here now, and the drive was on the table, and that was the thing that mattered.
"One more question," I said.
"The text message I received two nights ago.
The one that told me Reginald was flying in."
Dana met my eyes.
"I have your number from the company directory.
I've had it for years."
She picked up her coffee.
It had gone cold.
She drank it anyway.
Outside the conference room window, the city moved.
May you like
Somewhere across town, Flynn Vance was in a meeting with his attorney, planning his next move, believing he still had options.
He didn't know about the drive yet.
