“Yes.”
“And she still didn’t tell me.”
Hale was quiet for a moment.
“She was afraid,” he said.
“Not of Douglas.
Of you.” He looked at me carefully.
“She was afraid that if you knew about the money, you would never be certain whether her feelings for you were real.
She wanted you to know her first.
As Eleanor.
Not as — all of this.”
I closed the folder.
“I need to meet him,” I said.
“Douglas.”
Hale’s expression shifted.
“I would strongly advise against that before we — “
“I’m not asking for legal advice.
I’m telling you what I’m going to do.”
He studied me for a moment.
Then he nodded, once, and reached for his phone.
Douglas Marsh agreed to meet three days later.
A restaurant he chose — neutral ground, he said, through his attorney.
I arrived five minutes early and watched him walk in.
He was in his mid-forties.
