****
Over the next two nights I read in pieces, always returning every document to the safe before he came home. Each page answered one question and raised three more.
One name kept appearing throughout the documents. Diane. Her business card, with the address of her law office, was tucked inside an old diary.
****
Two days later, I called her office and drove there without telling anyone.
Diane was in her fifties, silver-haired, careful. She looked at me the way people look at bad news walking through the door.
"I need to know what's going on."
When she looked up, something about her eyes tugged at my memory. I'd seen that same steady gray gaze somewhere before, but I couldn't place it.
"Claire, I can't discuss my client with you. You understand."
"I'm not asking as a stranger. I'm his wife. We've built a life together."
"I know who you are."
