Chapter 3 - MELISSAMelissa and I met three days later in a coffee shop halfway between Richmond and Arlington.
Dad didn't want me going alone.
Neither did Mom.
I understood their concern, but this meeting belonged to Melissa and me.
Still, I compromised.
Dad sat in his truck across the street.
Melissa arrived ten minutes early.
I recognized her immediately, although she looked different from the photographs.
Her hair was shorter now, cut just below her chin. She wore jeans, a green sweater, and almost no makeup. She looked ordinary.
That surprised me.
Maybe because Daniel had spent years describing her as some chaotic villain.
But villains, I was learning, were often created in the stories told by people who needed to hide what they had done.
Melissa ordered coffee.
Neither of us touched our drinks.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"For what?"
"For believing him."
She looked down.
"You didn't know me."
"I should have questioned it."
Melissa gave me a sad smile.
"Daniel is very good at making reasonable people question themselves."
That sentence landed harder than anything else.
Because she understood.
I pulled out my phone.
"I photographed the files before he came downstairs."
Her face tightened when I showed her.
"You shouldn't have had to see those."
"Why did he have them?"
"I don't know."
"Did you send them to him?"
"No."
Her answer came instantly.
"Those photographs went to my lawyer. A few were submitted in court."
"Could his attorney have gotten copies?"
"Probably."
I scrolled farther.
Melissa touched my wrist.
"Stop."
I did.
She took a breath.
"There's something else you need to understand about that restraining order."
"What?"
"I withdrew the petition."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because Daniel's father came to see me."
I'd met Daniel's father, Richard Mercer, maybe twelve times.
He was seventy-one, silver-haired, wealthy, and so polished that he seemed permanently prepared for a charity banquet.
"What did Richard do?"
"He offered me money."
My stomach turned.
"You took it?"
Melissa's eyes hardened.
"No."
I immediately regretted the question.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Everybody assumed I did."
"What happened?"
"He told me pursuing the case would destroy Daniel's career and drag me through a public nightmare. He knew where I worked. He knew my landlord's name. He knew my younger sister was applying to medical school."
"Was that a threat?"
"He never said anything directly enough to sound like one."
Of course not.
Men like Richard understood clean hands.
"Then Daniel started showing up near my office," Melissa continued. "Never close enough to violate anything. Just close enough for me to see him."
"So you withdrew."
"I was twenty-six. Exhausted. Terrified. My lawyer warned me that the process could take months. I wanted my life back."
I reached across the table.
"You don't have to justify it to me."
Melissa's eyes filled.
"Thank you."
For a while neither of us spoke.
Then I asked the question I had been dreading.
"You said there was someone before you."
She nodded.
"Her name was Rachel Price."
"Did you meet her?"
"No. I found an old email after I left Daniel. Rachel had contacted him two years before we dated. She wrote that she never wanted to hear from him again."
"Did she accuse him of hurting her?"
"Not in the email I saw."
"Do you know where she is?"
"No."
I leaned back.
This wasn't simply a bad relationship.
It was a pattern.
And patterns leave trails.
"Daniel told me you were obsessed with him," I said.
Melissa gave a hollow laugh.
"He told me Rachel cheated on him."
I almost smiled, though nothing was funny.
"He told me you cheated on him."
"There you go."
Our eyes met.
The same script.
Different woman.
Melissa reached into her handbag.
"I brought something."
She placed a small USB drive on the table.
"What is it?"
"Audio."
My pulse quickened.
"Of Daniel?"
"Yes."
She looked toward the window.
"I started recording arguments during the last month we were together. My attorney told me to keep everything."
I didn't touch the drive.
"Have the police heard it?"
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"I was scared."
She swallowed.
"But I'm tired of being scared."
We sat silently.
Outside, people passed on the sidewalk carrying shopping bags and umbrellas.
The ordinary world continued moving.
Inside that coffee shop, two women were assembling pieces of the same nightmare.
"Melissa," I said carefully, "you don't owe me anything."
"I know."
"You don't have to reopen this because of me."
Her expression changed.
"I'm not doing it because of you."
I nodded.
"Okay."
"I'm doing it because for five years I've wondered what would happen to the next woman."
My throat tightened.
"I was the next woman."
"And maybe now we can make sure there isn't another."
We left after almost two hours.
Dad climbed from his truck when he saw me.
He looked at Melissa but didn't approach until I waved him over.
"Dad, this is Melissa."
His expression softened.
"Ma'am."
Melissa smiled faintly.
"You're the father who taught Claire how to protect herself?"
Dad glanced at me.
"I taught her enough to get out."
Melissa's smile disappeared.
"I wish someone had taught me."
Dad shook his head.
"Getting trapped doesn't mean you failed."
Melissa looked away quickly.
I realized my father had said exactly what she needed to hear.
Exactly what I needed to hear too.
Before we separated, Melissa gave me permission to provide the USB drive to investigators.
That afternoon, I handed it to Detective Lauren Brooks.
She was a domestic violence investigator in her forties with tired eyes and a voice that never rushed.
She listened without interrupting.
Then she asked about the security footage.
"We preserved it."
"And my photographs?"
"Preserved."
"Daniel's laptop?"
"Recovered."
"Can he get access to my house?"
"There is currently an emergency protective order in place. Your attorney can discuss extending it."
My attorney.
Until then, I hadn't realized I needed one.
Dad did.
By five o'clock, I was sitting in the office of Rebecca Sloan.
Rebecca was fifty-something, wore red glasses, and had the unsettling habit of becoming completely silent before asking the question you least wanted to answer.
She listened to everything.
Then she folded her hands.
"Claire, I want to separate three issues."
"Okay."
"First, your immediate safety."
I nodded.
"Second, the criminal investigation. That's controlled by law enforcement and prosecutors."
"Right."
"Third, your marriage and property."
My stomach tightened.
Divorce.
The word suddenly became real.
Rebecca continued.
"Do you want to remain married to Daniel?"
"No."
The answer came so quickly it surprised me.
Rebecca nodded once.
"Good. Certainty helps."
She slid a yellow legal pad toward herself.
"We begin today."
And we did.
Bank accounts.
Property records.
Insurance policies.
Business interests.
Daniel and I had lived well.
Very well.
He was a senior vice president at Mercer Development Group, the real estate company his father founded.
I had my own career as an architectural preservation consultant, but Daniel earned far more money.
Or so I thought.
Rebecca studied one of the financial statements I'd brought.
"What's this monthly transfer?"
"I don't know."
"$8,750 every month."
I leaned closer.
The transfer originated from our joint checking account and went to an LLC I had never heard of.
RMP CONSULTING.
"Could it be business-related?" I asked.
"Not from a personal joint account."
My skin prickled.
Rebecca turned several pages.
"It started eighteen months ago."
"That's around when we bought the house."
"What does RMP stand for?"
"I have no idea."
Rebecca wrote the letters on her pad.
Then her eyes narrowed.
"Claire."
"What?"
"You said the woman before Melissa was named Rachel Price."
I stared at the page.
R.
M.
P.
Rachel.
Melissa.
Price?
No.
That made no sense.
Unless...
Rebecca pulled her keyboard closer.
"I don't speculate without documents."
She began typing.
"But I think we're going to find out exactly what your husband has been paying for."
Two days later, we did.
RMP Consulting wasn't a consulting company.
It belonged to Rachel Marie Price.
And Daniel had been sending her money every single month.
May you like
For eighteen months.
The first transfer happened three weeks before our wedding.
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