“For what it’s worth,” I said, “I hope one day you learn to clean up your own messes. Not just the ones you can pay people to fix.” Then I left her sitting there, shaking, with the photo still in her hands.
Two weeks later, I got a call from an unknown number. When I answered, a calm male voice said, “Is this Lena?”
“Yes, who’s calling?”
“This is Richard,” he said. “Diane’s husband.” My breath hitched.
“What do you want?” He hesitated. “I don’t know what you said to her, but… I found everything. The hidden accounts. The missing insurance funds. The fake charities. She’s… leaving the house. I filed for separation.” His tone softened. “I don’t know who you are, but thank you.”
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