I found an attorney through an old colleague whose sister specialized in discreet family law matters involving high-profile clients.
I met her twice in the city under the pretense of visiting a former coworker.
Her name was Nora Feld.
She listened more than she spoke.
When I showed her the first photographs of bruises, she did not react with pity.
She reacted with precision.
“Document everything,” she said.
So I did.
I saved texts.
Voicemails.
Screenshots of transfers made from our joint accounts into shell entities Richard controlled.
Emails Evan forgot I could access.
Photos of injuries.
Recordings of Diane’s threats when she thought I was alone.
A timeline of dates.
A list of names.
Copies of tax documents.
Trust amendments.
Property records.
At first, I collected evidence to protect myself in the divorce.
Then I saw enough to understand the Whitmores were hiding far more than domestic cruelty.
Richard had built his fortune on the image of immaculate stewardship.
