Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would lose consciousness and wake up with unexplained aches and pains. My husband would only laugh and say, “You’re just out of shape, that’s all.” After the fourth ride, I secretly slipped a voice recorder into my purse and said nothing. That night, I listened to a phone conversation between the two of them that revealed my blackouts had never been accidental.

We preserved the original file and made a copy, documenting where it came from.

I explained that I had stopped listening after a sound of fabric moving.

Ellis asked whether I wanted her team to review the rest.

I said yes, but I couldn’t be in the room.

By late afternoon, she returned holding a legal pad.

Her face had the thoughtful stillness of someone weighing every word.

“We haven’t established what happened during the missing time,” she told me.

“But the recording includes a stop at an address and a second voice.