Chapter 6: Patricia
Patricia Holt was sixty-three years old and looked like someone who had been carrying something heavy for a long time.
She was waiting at the coffee shop she'd named in her text — a small place near the river, not the kind of spot a lawyer would choose for a meeting.
She had chosen a corner table, her back to the wall, and she stood when I walked in.
"Thank you for coming," she said.
"I wasn't sure you would."
"I almost didn't." I sat down across from her.
"Your husband's attorney filed a motion to reduce my settlement this morning."
"I know." She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup.
"David didn't tell me until last night.
Gerald told me this morning." She looked up.
"I've been married to Gerald for thirty-eight years.
I know when he's lying."
"Is he lying about being involved in the accident?"
She was quiet for a moment.
The coffee shop was nearly empty.
A radio played something soft near the counter.
"Gerald was on that highway," she said.
"He was driving home from his brother's house.
He'd had two glasses of wine.
Not enough to be legally impaired, but enough that when the truck came across the median, he panicked and accelerated instead of braking."
I kept my hands flat on the table.
"He didn't cause the accident," she continued.
"The truck driver caused the accident.
But Gerald drove away.
He didn't stop.
He didn't call anyone.
He went home and he didn't tell me for three weeks."
"And then the settlement was announced."
"And then David told him he had a legal strategy." Her voice tightened on the word strategy.
"Gerald convinced himself it was about clearing his conscience.
But David's the one who found the camera footage.
David's the one who hired the reconstruction team.
David's the one who filed the motion." She set her cup down.
"My husband is a frightened old man who made a terrible choice on a highway and has been living with it ever since.
But David Crane is using that to try to take money from a woman who lost her children."
I looked at her for a long moment.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I have a daughter," she said simply.
"She's thirty-one.
She has two little ones of her own." Her eyes filled but didn't spill.
"I read about Lily and Noah.
I read about your husband.
And I thought about my daughter reading something like that about her children." She pressed her lips together.
"I can't let Gerald be part of this.
And I can't let David use him."
"What are you willing to do?" I asked.
She reached into her bag and placed a small recorder on the table.
"Gerald told me everything.
The night he came home.
He didn't know I was recording." She slid it toward me.
"He describes exactly where he was on the highway, exactly what he did, and exactly why he drove away.
There is nothing in that recording that puts him at fault for the crash.
But there is everything that proves David Crane's motion is built on a story Gerald never actually told him."
I looked at the recorder.
"If I use this," I said, "it will affect your husband."
"He drove away from an accident that kjlled three people," she said quietly.
"He should face that.
I've told him so.
But he shouldn't be used as a weapon against you." She pushed the recorder closer.
"And your children's foundation shouldn't be the thing that gets dismantled to protect David Crane's billing hours."
I picked up the recorder.
Outside the window, the river moved gray and steady under the January sky.
"I'll need you to speak to my attorney," I said.
May you like
"I know." She nodded.
"I'm ready."
