“He’s using a standard intimidation tactic,” Mark said, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s a blunt instrument. He thinks because I’m ‘a stranger,’ he can paint a picture of a woman in a manic state. He doesn’t realize I know Lawrence Bell.”
“Who?”
“The best family lawyer in the state. He doesn’t make house calls, but for me, he’ll be here in an hour.”
Lawrence Bell was a man who looked like he had been carved out of old law books—sturdy, slow-moving, with eyes that saw the subtext of every sentence. He sat at my kitchen table, drank my tea, and listened to the recording I hadn’t realized I had.
Brenda Sanchez had called me earlier that day. She had accidentally left her phone recording in the hallway at the clinic when she went on her break. She had captured Evan and Nicole whispering in the corridor—discussing the “incapacity” plan, laughing about the condo.
