Chapter 3

Diane stepped off the plane in Florida, the humid air enveloping her like an unwelcome embrace. St. Augustine greeted her not with open arms but with an inscrutable face. She navigated through the airport, her senses tuned to every detail—the scent of sea salt mingling with jet fuel and the lazy spin of ceiling fans that fought a losing battle against the heat.

She found herself outside, the rental car kiosk a beacon amidst the chaos. Diane approached, her stride confident, her request for a vehicle straightforward. There was no time for hesitation, no room for second-guessing.

"Something reliable," she stated, locking eyes with the employee, whose fingers danced across the keyboard, securing her request.

"Will this work?" he asked, sliding the keys across the counter.

"Perfectly," Diane said, snatching them up. The keychain felt solid, a small piece of control in her grip.

The drive to the Airbnb was a blur—a stream of traffic lights and palm trees that lined the streets like sentinels. She pulled up to the address, the house modest, its facade bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun. Palmettos rustled in the gentle breeze, whispering secrets of the town they guarded.

Diane killed the engine, and silence flooded the car like water. For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe, to feel the full weight of her presence in this foreign place.

She grabbed her suitcase and stepped out. With each step toward the front door, Diane Matthews reaffirmed her purpose—she was here to exonerate Will, to honor Angela's memory.

And nothing would stand in her way.

The lock clicked open, and Diane stepped into the Airbnb, her heels tapping against the tiled floor—a crisp staccato in the stillness of the room. She scanned the space: an open-plan living area kissed by the fading light, sparse furniture dotted around, promising comfort without sentimentality. It was exactly what she needed.

She unzipped her suitcase, methodically transferring clothes into the dresser. Each garment had a crisp fold, and each placement was precise. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency; this was not the time to dwell on the softness of the fabric or the memories stitched into it.

Settled in, Diane perched on the edge of the cream-colored couch, closing her eyes briefly. A deep breath in and out, and then she was up again, determination flooding her veins like adrenaline.

---

Detective Larson's office was clinical, all sharp angles and sterile smells. Diane's eyes met his, unwavering, as she took the seat across from him without waiting for an invitation.

"Detective," she began, her voice a tempered blade. "I want to understand why you've arrested my son-in-law."

"Mrs. Matthews," he said, leaning back. "It's procedure to?—"

"Procedure doesn't arrest an innocent man." Diane cut him off. "Angela's death was an accident; that's what I was told. Now you're saying Will is responsible?"

"New evidence has come to light," Larson replied, his gaze steady but not as sure.

"Then share it," Diane insisted, leaning forward. "I need to see it for myself."

"Mrs. Matthews, it's not that simple?—"

"Make it simple," she snapped, the nurturing facade momentarily slipping. "My family has suffered enough. I won't let you railroad an innocent man because you need a quick close to the case. He is the father of my grandchildren."

Larson's eyes narrowed slightly, and then heshook his head. "I'm sorry. But it's confidential."

"Well, I guess I'll have to get it another way," Diane said, her composure returning. "I assure you, Detective, I will find the truth. And when I do, I expect your full cooperation."

"Mrs. Matthews, there is no other way to…."

"Where there is a will, there is a way. And I always find my ways," she said with a slight hiss as she stood.

He didn't respond, watching her instead with a mix of respect and wariness. Diane met his silence with a curt nod.

"Good day, Detective Larson. I trust we'll be speaking again soon."

With those final words, she turned on her heel and strode from the office, the door swinging shut behind her with a decisive click.

---

The clank of metal doors reverberated as Diane Matthews stepped into the sterile visiting room, her heart thrumming against her ribcage. She spotted Will through the glass partition, a shadow of the man she remembered. Their eyes met, a silent exchange of sorrow and resolve.

"Will," she said, pressing the phone to her ear, her voice steadying at the sight of him. His hand lifted to the glass, a gesture that bridged the distance between them.

"Diane… thank you for coming." His voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Nothing could've kept me away," she replied, clutching the receiver like a lifeline. "We're going to get through this. I'm here to help." I will get you the best lawyer money can buy around here. I will get you out so you can be with your children again."

"Angela would be grateful," he said, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Angela knew my love has no bounds," Diane affirmed, her words a fierce whisper. "And I know you're innocent."

They talked of memories and hope until the guard's stern voice announced that time was up. Diane stood, her hand lingering on the cool glass.

"I'll be back soon," she promised before the door buzzed and swallowed her back into the world.

---

The lawyer's office was a stark, utilitarian space, all sharp angles and cold light. Diane sat across from Mr. Stevenson, his suit immaculate, his gaze calculating.

"Mrs. Matthews, I won't sugarcoat it. This is an uphill battle," Stevenson began, shuffling papers with precision.

"Then we climb," Diane cut in, her tone edged with steel. "Tell me the plan."

He outlined motions, appeals, and expert testimonies. She cataloged each word and strategy with amethodical focus.

"Forensics will be key," Stevenson said, tapping a finger on a stack of reports. "If we can discredit the evidence?—"

"Discredit?" Diane interjected. "Or prove it wrong? There's a difference."

"Proving it wrong will be difficult," he admitted, locking eyes with her. "There's a new witness; that's all I've been told. We can, however, discredit other aspects of the investigation, maybe even find faults, and perhaps get the whole trial declared invalid, a mistrial. That would be my approach."

"Difficult doesn't mean impossible," she retorted, leaning forward. "We must keep him out of jail at all costs."

Stevenson nodded, but his skepticism was tangible, hanging heavy in the air. Diane bit back frustration, her mind racing. Every second mattered, every detail a potential key to unlocking Will's cell.

"Leave no stone unturned," she stated, more a command than a request. "I'll be doing the same."

"Understood," Stevenson conceded, though his expression remained unreadable.

Diane rose, her movements crisp and purposeful. She had planted seeds of hope; now, she needed them to take root. The fight had just begun.