Chapter 5: The Offer He Thought She Couldn't Refuse
Frances called at seven that evening.
"The message came from a prepaid phone.
Purchased three weeks ago.
But the cell tower it pinged puts it within four blocks of Cordelia Sterling's home address."
Marlowe was at her kitchen table, a plate of food she hadn't eaten in front of her.
"Can we use it?"
"As part of a pattern, yes.
On its own, it's circumstantial.
But combined with the asset transfer and the calls she made during recess — it starts to build a picture of coordinated interference."
"What does Garrick's attorney want?"
"That's the other reason I'm calling.
Mr.
Crane reached out an hour ago.
Garrick wants a private meeting.
Just the two of you.
No attorneys."
Marlowe was quiet for a moment.
"What does he think that will accomplish?"
"He thinks you're scared.
He thinks today rattled you and tonight you're sitting alone somewhere reconsidering.
He wants to offer you something before tomorrow's session makes it impossible for him to offer anything at all."
"What's the offer?"
"He didn't say.
That's the meeting."
Marlowe looked at the plate in front of her.
"Tell Mr.
Crane no.
And tell him the next communication from Garrick Sterling goes through counsel or it doesn't happen."
A pause on the line.
"Good," Frances said.
"I'll tell him."
"Frances.
The one thing I haven't told you yet.
I need to tell you now."
"I'm listening."
"When Garrick and I were in our third year of marriage, he brought in a business partner.
A man named Declan Foss.
Declan handled the international accounts — clients in Europe, a few in Southeast Asia.
He was good at it.
Too good.
Garrick started cutting him out of meetings.
Then out of decisions.
Then out of the company entirely.
He forced Declan to sign a non-disclosure and a non-compete in exchange for a small buyout."
"How small?"
"Forty thousand dollars.
For work that generated over two million in revenue."
Frances was quiet.
"Declan signed because he had a sick daughter and needed the money immediately.
Garrick knew that.
He timed the offer deliberately." Marlowe pushed the plate aside.
"I was there for part of it.
I didn't understand what I was watching until much later.
But Declan kept records.
He kept everything.
And six months ago, he contacted me."
"Where is he now?"
"Sitting in a hotel four blocks from the courthouse.
He's been there since yesterday."
Another silence.
Longer.
"Marlowe," Frances said carefully.
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
"Because I needed to see if Garrick would tell the truth today.
Even once.
Even about something small." She folded her hands on the table.
"He called my mother confused and elderly in open court to dismiss a document she signed with full understanding.
So now Declan comes in."
Frances exhaled slowly.
"I'll call him tonight.
Can you send me his number?"
"Already in your inbox."
After she hung up, Marlowe sat in the quiet kitchen for a long time.
She thought about her mother.
About the box at the back of the closet.
About the careful handwriting on the loan document — the same handwriting that had signed birthday cards and grocery lists and the inside cover of a Bible that now sat on Marlowe's nightstand.
Her mother had known.
She had kept the copy because she had known.
Marlowe's eyes went to the window.
The street outside was dark and ordinary.
Her phone buzzed again.
Same unknown number.
*Last chance.
He's more prepared than you think.*
She forwarded it to Frances without reading it twice.
Then she turned the phone face-down, finished what was on her plate, and went to bed.
May you like
Tomorrow, Declan Foss would walk into that courtroom.
And Garrick Sterling had no idea he was coming.
