Chapter 5: Patricia Wren
Patricia Wren's office was on the fourteenth floor of a building three blocks from the courthouse.
She was sixty-one, small, and had the kind of stillness that made you feel like she had already read the room before you walked in.
She read my folder in eleven minutes without saying a word.
Then she set it down and looked at me.
"The burn," she said.
"You have photographs."
"Taken the same night.
Timestamp intact."
"And the messages between your husband and the contact labeled G."
"Fourteen months of Melissa Carr.
And four months of whoever G is discussing the penthouse and diminished capacity."
"Do you believe G is Grant Calloway?"
"The timing matches.
The language matches.
And when Brooke mentioned the name Melissa last night, Grant's first response was to tell Ryan not to say another word without a lawyer." I paused.
"He didn't say *that's not true.* He said *lawyer.*"
Patricia picked up her pen.
"Tell me about the penthouse ownership."
"Purchased in my name alone, three years before the marriage.
Deed has never been amended.
Ryan is not on the title."
"Has he ever contributed financially to the property?"
"No.
He's been on the payroll of his father's contracting business since before we met.
His income covers his personal expenses.
Everything related to the penthouse — mortgage, maintenance, HOA, renovations — has come from my accounts."
"Good." She made a note.
"The diminished capacity angle they were discussing — that would require them to argue you were mentally unfit to manage your own assets, likely timed to your postpartum period.
It's a real legal strategy.
Ugly, but real." She looked up.
"They were planning to wait until you were vulnerable."
"I know."
"Then we don't give them that window." She set her pen down.
"Here is what I recommend.
We file for divorce today.
We file a protective order related to the physical incident last night — the burn, the restraint, the threatening text you received at three this morning.
We put the penthouse on record as your sole property.
And we contact the Denver DA's office regarding the messages about the property scheme."
I looked at her.
"Criminal charges."
"Conspiracy to commit fraud is a criminal matter.
The threatening text may also qualify depending on how it's interpreted." She held my gaze.
"I want to be clear with you, Claire.
This will not be quiet.
Ryan and Grant will fight back.
Grant in particular strikes me as a man who does not accept losing gracefully."
"He isn't," I said.
"Then you need to be prepared for that."
"I've been prepared since last night."
She studied me for a moment.
Then she nodded once, the way people do when they've decided they can work with someone.
"One more thing," I said.
"Brooke Calloway.
Ryan's sister.
She witnessed last night.
She also has prior knowledge of at least one earlier incident and the Melissa message.
She may be willing to provide a statement."
"Has she indicated that?"
"She spoke up last night when she didn't have to.
She looked Ryan in the face and told the truth." I paused.
"I think she's done protecting him."
Patricia made another note.
"I'll want to speak with her separately.
Don't coach her.
Just ask if she's willing."
"I will."
I left Patricia's office at eleven-fifteen.
The city was grey and cold, the holiday weekend emptying the sidewalks.
I stood on the pavement outside and texted Brooke a single line.
*I have a lawyer.
Her name is Patricia Wren.
Are you willing to talk to her?*
The reply came in under two minutes.
*Yes.
Tell me when.*
Then, after a short pause, a second message.
*Ryan called me this morning.
He told me I misremembered everything from last night.
He said if I repeat any of it, I'm going to damage the family in ways I can't undo.*
I read it twice.
Then I typed back: *He said that because he's scared.
You didn't misremember anything.
And you're not going to damage the family.
You're going to tell the truth.*
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
*Okay,* she wrote.
*Okay.*
I put my phone in my pocket and walked to my car.
May you like
Ryan thought last night was the worst thing that could happen to him.
He hadn't seen today yet.
