Diana Park leaves town on a Sunday morning, exactly five days after the dinner at the Ritz-Carlton.
I know this because Kevin has been tracking her departure timeline in a spreadsheet titled "Diana Park: Exit Logistics." He's documented her hotel checkout time (9:47 AM), her mode of transportation (taxi to the airport), and her flight number (which he obtained through "publicly available aviation data," a phrase that makes Sophie raise her eyebrows and mutter something about Kevin's "concerning research capabilities").
The morning is gray and drizzly, the kind of weather that makes you want to stay in bed with a book and a cup of tea. But I'm not in bed. I'm standing in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton with Lucas beside me and Sophie and Kevin flanking us like an honor guard, waiting to say goodbye to a woman I once feared and now might call a friend.
