Chapter 7: The Appointment
The family law office was on the fourth floor of a building downtown, with a waiting room that smelled like fresh coffee and carpet cleaner.
The attorney's name was Susan Greer.
She had short gray hair and reading glasses pushed up on her head and the manner of someone who had heard a great many extraordinary things and was not easily surprised.
She was not surprised now.
She listened to Daniel for eleven minutes without interrupting.
Then she looked at Raymond.
Then she looked at me.
"You have the drive," she said.
"Here." Daniel set it on her desk.
"You have a second documented victim willing to make a statement."
"Patricia Holt.
She has her own attorney.
They've been in contact since last night."
Susan nodded.
"And the child's photographs — the ones taken last night of your mother-in-law accessing a contact list?"
"On the tablet." I set it beside the drive.
Susan looked at both items for a moment.
Then she took her glasses off her head and put them on properly.
"Mrs.
Marsh," she said, "what outcome are you looking for?"
I had thought about this in the car.
"I want my daughter protected.
I want it on record what was done and by whom.
And I want Patricia to have what she needs to reopen her custody case."
"The custody matter is separate jurisdiction, but the documentation you have will be directly relevant." Susan made a note.
"For your own situation — your husband never signed any formal separation agreement?"
"No.
He packed a suitcase.
That was as far as it got."
"Then your marital status is unchanged.
The house is not at risk." She looked at Daniel.
"Mr.
Marsh, I want to be direct with you.
What your mother did constitutes fraud.
Depending on how Patricia Holt's attorney proceeds, there may be civil liability.
There could also be a criminal referral, though that's a longer road."
Daniel's jaw tightened.
"I understand."
"Are you prepared for that?"
A pause.
Not a long one.
"Yes," he said.
Susan set down her pen.
"Then let's start with a formal statement from each of you.
Raymond, I'll need yours in writing — your attorney can assist, or I can refer you to someone." She looked at the drive again.
"I'd like my tech consultant to image this today, if you're willing to leave it."
"Take it," Daniel said.
We were in that office for two hours.
When we came out, the morning had shifted — the light different, the street louder than it had been.
Raymond shook Daniel's hand on the sidewalk and held it for a moment.
"I'm sorry," Raymond said.
"For all of it.
For how long it took."
"You came," Daniel said.
"That's what matters now."
Raymond nodded.
He walked to his car.
He didn't look back, but I didn't think that was coldness — I thought it was a man who had been carrying something for three years and had finally set it down and wasn't sure yet how to walk without the weight.
My phone rang as we reached our car.
It was Linda.
I looked at the screen.
I showed it to Daniel.
He took the phone from my hand and answered it.
"Mom."
Whatever she had planned to say, she hadn't planned for him to answer.
A beat of silence.
Then: "I want to talk to my daughter-in-law."
"She's here.
You're on speaker."
Another silence.
When Linda spoke again, her voice had changed.
Softer.
The version she used when she wanted something.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot last night.
I'd like to sit down, just the two of us, and talk this through like adults.
I think there's been a misunderstanding—"
"Linda," I said.
"—and I know emotions were running high, but if we could just—"
"Linda." My voice came out steadier than I expected.
"We've just come from a meeting with our attorney.
She has the drive.
She has Raymond's statement.
She's spoken with Patricia Holt's lawyer." I paused.
"There's nothing left to talk through."
The silence this time was different.
"You're making a mistake," Linda said.
Her voice had gone flat.
The softness was gone as fast as it had appeared.
"You have no idea what I can still do."
"I think I have a reasonable idea," I said.
"Goodbye, Linda."
Daniel ended the call.
We stood on the sidewalk for a moment.
He handed my phone back.
Our hands touched when he did, and neither of us pulled away.
"She's going to try something else," he said.
"I know."
"We need to be ready."
"I know that too."
He looked at me.
Really looked, the way he hadn't in the kitchen the night before when he was still deciding what to believe.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For the suitcase.
For not listening."
"You listened when it mattered."
"That's not good enough."
"No," I said.
"It isn't.
But it's where we are."
He nodded.
We got in the car.
His phone rang before he started the engine.
He looked at the screen and showed it to me.
It was Mark — the cousin Linda had asked for a character statement.
Daniel answered it.
"Mark."
"She just called me again," Mark said.
"She wants me to say I witnessed you — your wife — being verbally aggressive toward her on multiple occasions.
She says she'll pay my legal fees if anything comes of it."
Daniel's hand tightened on the phone.
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her I'd think about it." A pause.
"I'm not going to do it.
But I thought you should know she's asking."
"Thank you," Daniel said.
"Don't take her calls anymore."
He ended the call and started the car.
We drove home without speaking.
But when we pulled into the driveway and he turned off the engine, he didn't get out right away.
"She's not going to stop," he said.
May you like
"No," I agreed.
"Then we don't stop either."
