Lauren said he was crying.”

“Lauren is twenty-six, and she still thinks her father is going to buy her a pony,” Rachel said, her pen tapping once against her chin before she clipped it to her sun visor.

“Call her back right now.

Tell her to screenshot every text message Mark has sent her since August.”

“She’s at her desk at work.”

“I don’t care if she’s in a board meeting,” Rachel said.

“Tell her to send them to your phone before I drive over there and get her myself.”