Chapter 3 - The Blue Folder
The diary mentioned a blue folder seven times.
Sometimes Elise wrote that Sterling had taken it. Other times she described making copies and hiding them in places she could reach without asking permission. I had no idea what the folder held, and I refused to invent an answer just because a mystery seemed easier to solve than a marriage.
Leah met me and Mom in her office to review what we knew.
"Elise may have been documenting financial misconduct," she said, pointing to entries about invoices and client accounts. "Or she may have been protecting her personal financial records. We need direct evidence before assuming either."
Mrs. Reed came in that afternoon and described the household practices she'd observed. Sterling controlled the internet password and told her not to admit visitors unless they were scheduled. He sometimes took Elise's phone, saying she needed a break from people who upset her. Mrs. Reed had no way to know which choices Elise agreed with and which she feared resisting.
"Did he ever strike her?" Leah asked.
"I never saw that. I saw her become quiet when he entered."
That was not proof of every crime I feared. It was enough to deepen the concern.
We copied relevant diary pages without editing them and gave the appropriate information to the investigating officer. I kept the original stored safely and did not distribute it among relatives. Elise deserved control over her private writing once she could make that choice.
Mom called the library referenced in her email. The staff wouldn't give out a patron's information. They did offer general information about how someone could contact legal assistance from a public computer. We didn't press further.
Two days later Sterling's attorney sent me a letter demanding that I return the diary and stop making false statements about his client. The letter said Elise's location was unknown to him and that he was worried for her mental health.
Leah reviewed the demand and advised me not to respond personally. She contacted opposing counsel to preserve communications and address ownership and evidence concerns through proper channels.
At home I began a timeline of every occasion Sterling had prevented me from speaking with Elise. There was her canceled birthday dinner, the weekend he answered her phone while she was supposedly asleep, the night she left our mother's anniversary party early because he'd accused her of embarrassing him.
I wanted to call myself stupid for missing it. Leah told me to be precise instead.
"You saw isolated moments. A pattern becomes clearer after you have the records. Focus on what you can do now."
I was finally able to look at myself honestly without making my guilt the center of Elise's story.
That evening I found a note tucked into the diary's back cover. It was written in Elise's handwriting, but the paper was different from the rest. It contained a list of four document names and the words: Copy sent to office. Do not trust the original.
One item was labeled Caldwell Care billing audit.
I knew Sterling's company handled records for several nursing facilities. I'd never worked in that industry and didn't know whether the audit showed a mistake, a contractual dispute, or something more serious.
Leah advised me not to access any systems or files I wasn't authorized to see. We sent a preservation request concerning the relevant documents through proper channels and discussed whether regulatory authorities might need information if the allegations could be supported.
The next morning Mom received a call from an unfamiliar number.
A woman's voice asked, "Is Ana with you?"
Mom recognized Elise at once.
She put the phone on speaker with shaking hands.
"I'm here," I said.
Elise took a breath.
"Ana, please stop looking for me at Sterling's house."
"Are you safe?"
May you like
"Right now. But you opened something he was terrified I'd kept."
The line went dead before I could ask what she meant.
