“Dana Morales?” I asked suddenly.
Kenneth looked at me. “You know her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. There was a Dana at the first clinic. She handled scheduling sometimes.” I pressed my fingers to my temple. “Dark hair. Silver glasses. She always wore lavender perfume.”
Melinda nodded quickly. “Yes. Connor met her for coffee once. I thought it was about paperwork.”
Connor laughed again, but it sounded thin. “This is insane.”
Kenneth made another note. “Did this Dana request payment?”
Melinda hesitated.
Connor spoke through clenched teeth. “Stop.”
She answered anyway.
“Yes.”
“How much?” Kenneth asked.
“I only saw one transfer. Twenty-five thousand.”
I stared at Connor.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
During the divorce, he had fought me over the dining table. Over a vacation credit. Over my grandmother’s antique mirror because he claimed it had been purchased during the marriage, even though he had always hated it.
All while hiding twenty-five thousand dollars paid to someone named Dana.
“What account?” Kenneth asked.
“Business account,” Melinda said. “Connor said it was consulting.”
Kenneth nodded once, as if another invisible piece had clicked into place.
Connor’s composure cracked.
“You think this makes you innocent?” he said to Melinda. “You were happy enough when you thought you’d gotten what you wanted.”
She absorbed the words like someone who had heard worse in private.
“No,” she said quietly. “I was never happy. I was relieved, then scared, then ashamed. Those aren’t the same thing.”
The honesty in that sentence stayed with me.
I wanted to hate her cleanly.
