Chapter 6: What the Attorney Knew
His name was Gerald Foss.
He arrived at the chapel forty minutes later, while the last of the guests were still filtering out through the main doors and my aunt Patricia was sitting with Emily in the small garden behind the vestry, feeding her crackers from her handbag.
Gerald Foss was a compact man in his late fifties with reading glasses pushed up on his forehead and the slightly rumpled look of someone called away from a Saturday afternoon at home.
He shook my hand, then Carol's, then sat down in the front pew with his briefcase open on his knees.
"I want to be straightforward with you," he said.
"When Ms.
Calloway came to me, she presented this as a joint decision between both parents.
She used that phrase specifically — both parents."
"Emily's mother passed away four years ago," I said.
Gerald Foss went still.
"Ms.
Calloway told you Emily had two living parents?" Carol asked.
"She told me the child's father had agreed to the arrangement but was emotionally unable to manage the paperwork himself.
She said she was acting as his representative." He removed a document from his briefcase.
"She provided what she described as a written authorization from you."
He held it out.
I looked at it.
My name was at the bottom.
My signature — or something very close to it.
"That's not my signature," I said.
Gerald Foss looked at it again.
Then he looked at me.
"Mr.
Hartley, I need to ask you directly.
Did you authorize anyone to act on your behalf in any guardianship matter involving your daughter?"
"No."
He closed his briefcase slowly.
"Then I have a problem," he said.
"Because I notarized a document based on a representation that was false.
And I filed a preliminary welfare petition with the family court on Thursday afternoon based on information provided entirely by Ms.
Calloway."
"The petition has already been filed?" Carol asked.
"Thursday at four o'clock."
I sat down on the pew across from him.
"What does it say?" I asked.
Gerald Foss hesitated.
"It describes a single father working excessive hours with no consistent support structure, a child showing signs of emotional withdrawal at school, and a pattern of — and I'm reading directly here — *compensatory permissiveness* that the filing party believes is detrimental to the child's development."
"Emotional withdrawal at school," I repeated.
"Yes."
"Emily's teacher gave her a commendation last month.
For helping a new student settle in during her first week."
Gerald Foss took his glasses off his forehead and set them on his knee.
He didn't speak for a moment.
"I was deceived," he said finally.
"That is not an excuse.
I should have verified the authorization independently.
I did not." He looked at Carol.
"I'll file a withdrawal of the petition on Monday morning and submit a correction to the court noting that the original filing was based on false representations.
I'll also provide a written statement to that effect for Mr.
Hartley's records."
"That's the right thing to do," Carol said.
"It's the only thing to do." He stood and picked up his briefcase.
Then he paused.
"The signature on the authorization document.
It's close, but it's not exact.
If you want to pursue this further — beyond the withdrawal — there are options."
"What kind of options?" I asked.
"Filing a false legal document.
Using a forged signature to initiate court proceedings.
Providing false information to a notary." He said each one carefully, the way a man says things he wishes he didn't have to say.
"These are not small matters, Mr.
Hartley."
He left his card on the pew and walked out.
Carol sat down beside me.
For a moment neither of us said anything.
Through the vestry window I could see Emily in the garden, still sitting with Patricia.
She had found a dandelion somewhere and was blowing the seeds off the top, watching them drift.
"She called you from a tablet," I said.
"Yes."
"She found the safeguarding number herself."
"She did."
"She's seven."
"She's very capable," Carol said.
"And she was very calm on the phone.
She told me exactly what she had seen and exactly what she was worried about.
She said—" Carol paused.
"She said she didn't want to upset you before the wedding.
She just wanted someone to know, in case."
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.
"In case I went through with it," I said.
"Yes."
The chapel was empty now except for the two of us and the faint smell of flowers beginning to warm in the afternoon sun.
"What do I do about Marcus?" I asked.
Carol was quiet for a moment.
"That's not a legal question."
"No," I said.
May you like
"It's not."
Outside, Emily released the last of the dandelion seeds and watched them go.
