“I’m not asking you to take sides.”
“She used my name to lie to you.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m already on a side.”
My phone buzzed thirty seconds later.
Screenshots.
Vanessa:
Random question. If Grant ever reaches out, can you just say we’ve grabbed drinks a couple times? Nothing weird.
Daniel:
Why would Grant reach out?
Vanessa:
He’s gotten paranoid lately.
Daniel:
Are you seeing someone?
Vanessa:
Jesus, no. Forget I asked.
Daniel:
I’m serious. Don’t put me in something.
Vanessa:
Relax. It’s not that deep.
I read the exchange twice.
Then a third time.
Daniel said:
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
The question surprised me.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
That was partly a lie.
I knew what I was not going to do.
Wait for Vanessa to return and ask her to explain Daniel.
Daniel was no longer the question.
He was the answer to a smaller question.
She had lied before leaving.
Deliberately.
Prepared in advance.
Used a real person as cover.
The larger question remained.
Who was she actually with?
I already knew which name my mind wanted to choose.
Adrian Voss.
I had looked him up weeks earlier.
Not obsessively.
Enough.
Forty-four.
Married.
Two daughters, twelve and fifteen.
House in Montclair.
Frequent photographs at charity events with his wife, Claire.
Claire Voss was a CPA and partner at a forensic-accounting firm in Manhattan.
The kind of biography you can learn from three public pages without invading anyone’s privacy.
I had never contacted her.
I told myself there was no justification.
A late-night call between coworkers was suspicious but not proof.
A hotel receipt was suspicious but not proof.
Deleted call history could mean many things.
Daniel changed that.
Vanessa had manufactured an alibi before the night even began.
I opened LinkedIn.
Claire Voss appeared immediately.
I stared at the message window for a long time.
Then typed:
Mrs. Voss, my name is Grant Holloway. My wife Vanessa works with Adrian at Heller Voss. I’m sorry to contact you unexpectedly. I have reason to believe our spouses may be giving us false information about where they are tonight. I do not want to make accusations without facts. If I’m wrong, I apologize.
I almost deleted it.
Instead I sent it.
Then waited.
Nothing.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen.
At 8:31, a reply appeared.
Mr. Holloway, what did Vanessa tell you?
Direct.
No greeting.
I answered:
That she is clubbing with an ex-boyfriend named Daniel. Daniel just confirmed he is not with her and has not seen her in two years. He also sent me messages showing Vanessa asked him to provide cover if I contacted him. I’m sorry.
Claire’s response came two minutes later.
Adrian told me he is at an investor dinner in Manhattan.
Then:
This is not the first time I have had concerns.
I felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
I typed:
I saw your husband’s name calling Vanessa at 1:18 a.m. several months ago. She said it was work. The call disappeared from her history later. I have not accessed her devices or followed her.
Claire replied:
Thank you for being clear.
Another message.
Can I call you?
My phone rang almost immediately.
Claire’s voice was calmer than I expected.
Low.
Controlled.
The voice of someone who had spent the last hour trying not to panic in front of her children.
“How long have you suspected?”
“I don’t know if suspected is the right word.”
“It probably is.”
“Since June.”
Claire exhaled.