Something that was almost a smile crossed Hadley Moss's face. "Now she's interesting," she said. "Because I can't make her do anything. She's not your wife. But she did produce a document, under her professional title, describing an interview that never happened, on a day you can prove you were home with the child she claimed to be interviewing, and she sent it to a program in another state in exchange for a fee she didn't disclose. And your wife, I'd bet, also sent it to the school."
He thought of Ms. Okafor's notes. "She did," he said slowly. "Celeste asked for a meeting about a behavior plan. Ms. Okafor said she'd never seen any of the behaviors in the assessment and asked to speak to the evaluator. Renée never called her back."
"So it's in your daughter's school record. With a lie on page two." Hadley Moss wrote something down. "I'll draft a declaration for Ms. Albright. A truthful one. That she never met, observed, or interviewed Skyler Dawes. That her assessment was based entirely on the stepmother's statements. That she had a financial arrangement with Cedar Hollow Ascent that she did not disclose to the father. That she withdraws the assessment, in writing, to the program and the school. And that she refunds your three thousand five hundred dollars." She looked up. "She doesn't have to sign it. But the Idaho licensing people are already looking at that program, I know someone who knows someone, and our attorney general's consumer protection division takes a dim view of people billing Maryland families for evaluations they invented. She can sign the true version, or she can explain the false version to them. Up to her."
"When should I do this?"
"Not yet," said Hadley Moss. "You don't tip anyone off until it's all in one envelope. Nobody gets a chance to delete anything, call anyone, get ahead of you. Can you keep your daughter fed and safe for two more weeks without your wife noticing?"
He thought about it. "Yes," he said.
"Then two weeks. And Mr. Dawes." She put her glasses back on. "Whatever you're going to do, do it after the guests leave. Not in front of people. People get dramatic in front of people."
He told her he would.
* * *
He kept that promise for exactly two weeks and about forty seconds.