Chapter 9: The Settlement
The settlement meeting lasted four hours.
Webb opened by offering a division that gave Daniel the business, the investment accounts, and the house, with a monthly support figure that Richard described afterward as "an insult dressed in a suit." I watched Richard write the number on his notepad, underline it once, and set his pen down.
"We'll counter," Richard said.
The counter took forty minutes to draft and three minutes to deliver.
The house to Grace.
Primary physical custody of Noah with Daniel having unsupervised visitation once the home evaluation cleared.
A structured division of the business assets based on the forensic accountant's valuation — which, because of the Cayman transfers, was now significantly larger than Daniel's team had originally declared.
And a formal acknowledgment, in writing, that the asset transfers had occurred and that Daniel accepted responsibility for them.
That last point was the one Webb fought hardest.
"My client is not going to sign a document admitting to financial misconduct," Webb said.
"Then we go back to Judge Okafor," Richard said.
"And we let the financial crimes unit finish their review.
And we see what they call it."
Webb looked at Daniel.
Daniel looked at the table.
"Give us fifteen minutes," Webb said.
They went into the hallway.
Richard and I sat in the conference room.
Through the glass partition, I could see Webb speaking and Daniel standing with his arms crossed, then not crossed, then his hand over his mouth.
"He's going to sign," Richard said quietly.
"How do you know?"
"Because Webb is still talking.
If Daniel had said no, Webb would have come back in already." He glanced at me.
"Webb doesn't like losing any more than we do.
He's telling Daniel what losing looks like from here."
They came back in at the fourteen-minute mark.
"My client will sign the acknowledgment," Webb said, "with modified language.
'Transferred' rather than 'misappropriated.' And we want the financial crimes referral withdrawn."
"We don't control the referral," Richard said.
"Judge Okafor made it.
It's the court's, not ours."
Webb knew that.
He had known it when he asked.
He nodded once.
The signing took another forty minutes.
Initialing pages, adjusting language, Webb and Richard going back and forth on three specific clauses while Daniel and I sat at opposite ends of the table and did not speak.
At one point Daniel looked up and caught me watching him.
"I'm sorry about the keys," he said.
Just that.
Quietly, while Webb was reading something.
I looked at him.
"I know," I said.
It wasn't forgiveness.
It wasn't absolution.
It was just the truth — I knew he was sorry.
I also knew that sorry did not reach back to that Tuesday night and answer the phone.
The final page was signed at three forty-seven in the afternoon.
Webb gathered his copies.
His associates gathered theirs.
Daniel stood up, buttoned his jacket, and for a moment he just stood there as if he had forgotten which direction the door was.
"Daniel," Webb said.
Daniel picked up his pen from the table.
He looked at it.
Then he set it back down and walked out.
Webb paused at the door.
He looked at Richard.
"Holt."
"Webb."
A pause.
Something passed between them that I didn't entirely understand — some acknowledgment between two people who had been on opposite sides of many rooms like this one.
Then Webb left.
Richard closed his folder.
He looked at me.
"It's done," he said.
I sat with that for a moment.
The conference room was very quiet.
Outside the window, Boston went on being Boston — traffic, pigeons, a siren somewhere fading east.
"The financial crimes review," I said.
"That's still ongoing."
"Yes.
We have no control over where that goes." He paused.
"But whatever happens there, it happens to Daniel.
Not to you.
Not to Noah." He looked at me steadily.
"You're out, Grace.
You and Noah are out."
I nodded.
My hands were in my lap.
I noticed they weren't shaking.
"I need to call Carol," I said.
"Of course."
I stepped into the hallway.
I called my sister.
She picked up on the first ring.
"It's done," I said.
Carol made a sound that was not quite a word.
Then: "Come home.
I made dinner."
"I'll be there in an hour."
"Noah's been staring at the ceiling fan for forty minutes.
I think he's fine."
I laughed.
It came out louder than I expected, there in the hallway of a law firm, and a paralegal passing by glanced at me and smiled without knowing why.
"I'll be there in an hour," I said again.
I hung up.
May you like
I stood in the hallway for a moment.
Then I went back in to collect my things, and I walked out of that building into the cold Boston afternoon, and I did not look back.
