Chapter 6 - SEVEN NAMESThe list contained seven names.
Rachel Price.
Melissa Hart.
Claire Mercer.
Four others.
Amy Walsh.
Natalie Greene.
Sophie Benton.
Lauren Pierce.
Detective Brooks warned me immediately not to contact them.
"We don't know what the document means yet."
"It means something."
"Probably. But investigators need to approach this carefully."
"What was beside the names?"
"Dates."
"What dates?"
"Some appear to correspond to periods when Daniel knew each person."
"Relationships?"
"We haven't confirmed that."
I hated waiting.
But I had learned not to confuse impatience with action.
So I worked.
My employer had given me leave after Daniel's arrest, but sitting at home made me feel trapped in a different way.
I returned to my restoration projects three days a week.
Old buildings soothed me.
There was something comforting about structures damaged by time yet still worth saving.
I was reviewing nineteenth-century molding in an abandoned courthouse when Melissa texted.
Can we talk?
I called her.
"You okay?"
"Detective Brooks contacted another woman."
"Which one?"
"I don't know. She didn't tell me."
"Then how do you know?"
"Someone messaged me."
My stomach dropped.
"Who?"
"Amy Walsh."
One of the names.
"What did she say?"
"She wants to meet."
"Police told me not to contact anyone."
"Same."
"So don't."
Melissa sighed.
"I know."
"But?"
"She's scared."
I leaned against a column.
"Tell her to call Detective Brooks."
"I did."
"Good."
There was silence.
Then Melissa said, "You're getting annoyingly responsible."
"My father is thrilled."
That made her laugh.
Amy eventually spoke with investigators.
I knew only what became public later.
She had dated Daniel briefly in college.
There was no allegation of physical violence.
But she described possessive behavior, repeated unwanted contact after their breakup, and threats to share private information with her parents.
Natalie Greene had worked with Daniel.
Sophie Benton had attended business school with him.
Lauren Pierce turned out to be someone none of us expected.
Daniel's former college roommate's younger sister.
Not every name represented the same experience.
That mattered.
I refused to flatten seven women into a single narrative just because it was convenient.
Some alleged abuse.
Some described intimidation.
One described nothing criminal at all.
But the existence of the list remained disturbing.
Why had Daniel created it?
Digital forensics answered part of that question.
The file was stored in a folder labeled RISK.
Alongside it were notes.
Addresses.
Employers.
Social-media accounts.
Relationship statuses.
People close to each woman.
When Detective Brooks explained this to me, I felt physically sick.
"He tracked us?"
"That's one interpretation investigators are examining."
"What other interpretation is there?"
"Claire."
"I know."
She didn't need to finish.
Evidence first.
Conclusions later.
Daniel's attorney argued the information was ordinary personal record-keeping related to potential legal disputes.
Rebecca responded with one raised eyebrow when I told her.
"Do you keep spreadsheets of your ex-boyfriends' employers?"
"No."
"Neither do I."
The criminal case expanded.
So did the media attention.
Reporters parked outside Mercer Development.
A local television station aired a segment about the board investigation.
Someone published my name online.
I began receiving messages.
Most were supportive.
Some were cruel.
Gold digger.
Attention seeker.
Why didn't you leave sooner?
That question appeared repeatedly.
Why didn't you leave?
As if leaving were a single door you simply opened.
As if confusion, hope, fear, money, shame, love, and isolation weren't locks of their own.
I stopped reading comments.
Dad wanted me to delete social media entirely.
Instead, I changed my settings and lived my life.
That felt more important.
Then Richard Mercer requested a private meeting.
Through attorneys.
Rebecca laughed when she received the request.
"He specifically asked that lawyers not attend."
"Obviously no."
"Obviously."
But then Richard sent a second message.
He claimed he had information about Daniel that could "resolve everything."
Rebecca recommended we hear him—with attorneys present and the meeting recorded.
Richard reluctantly agreed.
We met in a law office conference room downtown.
He arrived wearing a charcoal suit and carrying no documents.
For the first time since I'd known him, he looked old.
Not weak.
Just old.
He sat across from me.
"Claire."
"Richard."
"I want you to understand that I never wanted any of this."
Rebecca interrupted.
"Let's avoid generalities."
Richard's mouth tightened.
He had probably spent forty years in rooms where nobody interrupted him.
Rebecca apparently considered that a hobby.
Richard looked at me.
"Daniel has always been difficult."
"Difficult?"
"Quick-tempered."
"Melissa had bruises."
He flinched.
Good.
"I didn't know the extent of that situation."
"She said you offered her money."
"I offered financial assistance if she agreed to resolve things privately."
"That's called money."
Rebecca touched my arm lightly.
Not to silence me.
To steady me.
Richard inhaled.
"I was trying to protect my son."
"And the company."
"Yes."
At least he admitted it.
"What information do you have?" Rebecca asked.
Richard stared at the table.
"When Daniel was twenty-two, there was an incident at university."
My skin prickled.
"What incident?"
"A fight."
"With a woman?"
"No."
That surprised me.
"A roommate."
"What happened?"
"Daniel assaulted him."
"Why?"
"The roommate tried to intervene during an argument between Daniel and a girlfriend."
Amy?
I wondered.
Richard continued.
"The young man required surgery."
My mouth went dry.
"Was Daniel charged?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Richard's silence answered first.
Rebecca spoke.
"What did you do?"
"We reached a settlement."
Of course.
"What happened at the university?" I asked.
"Daniel withdrew for a semester."
"And then?"
"He finished his degree elsewhere."
"You erased it."
Richard looked at me sharply.
"I protected my child."
"No."
My voice stayed calm.
"You protected him from consequences."
Richard's face changed.
For a moment, he looked angry.
Then exhausted.
"I thought he would grow out of it."
"Violence?"
"I thought he would mature."
"You kept fixing everything."
He said nothing.
"And every time you fixed it," I continued, "he learned something."
Richard looked up.
"What?"
"That everybody else pays for what Daniel does."
Silence.
No one in the room moved.
Finally Richard whispered, "I know."
It was the first thing he had ever said that sounded like truth.
He provided the name of the former roommate.
Ethan Walsh.
Amy Walsh's brother.
That explained two names at once.
Ethan agreed to cooperate with investigators.
And unlike events involving intimate partners, his case had old university medical records and settlement paperwork.
Richard had kept copies.
Why?
Maybe powerful men never truly throw away records.
Maybe they assume records are protection.
This time, they became evidence.
Three weeks later, prosecutors added charges related to Daniel's conduct the night I escaped.
Other allegations remained under investigation.
I attended the hearing with Rebecca.
Daniel walked into the courtroom wearing a navy suit.
He looked exactly like the man I married.
For one dangerous second, my memory tried to soften him.
Then he saw me.
His expression changed.
A tiny smile appeared.
The same smile he used whenever he believed he knew something I didn't.
Rebecca leaned toward me.
"Don't engage."
I didn't.
After court, his attorney approached ours.
Daniel wanted mediation in the divorce.
Rebecca asked what had changed.
The attorney handed her a proposal.
Daniel would give me the house.
The investment account.
A substantial cash settlement.
In return, he wanted one item.
His laptop.
Rebecca looked at me.
I looked at her.
Then we both understood.
Whatever Daniel feared most wasn't the divorce.
May you like
It was still on that computer.
And investigators hadn't found it yet.
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