Chapter 8: Linda Makes Her Move
She did it on a Thursday.
We knew something was coming — Susan Greer had warned us that Linda had retained her own attorney, a man named Fowler who specialized in family disputes and had a reputation for aggressive pre-litigation tactics.
What we didn't know was the shape of it.
The shape of it was a letter.
It arrived at our house by courier at nine in the morning.
Daniel was at work.
Chloe was at school.
I signed for it alone at the front door.
The letter was from Fowler's office.
It alleged that I had engaged in a pattern of emotional manipulation and financial deception during our marriage, that I had alienated Daniel from his family, and that I had coached our minor child to make false statements against her grandmother.
It demanded that I cease all contact with Patricia Holt and Raymond Marsh, that I withdraw any statements made to Susan Greer, and that I agree to a mediated settlement — the terms of which were attached on a separate page.
The settlement terms gave Linda unsupervised visitation with Chloe every other weekend.
Indefinitely.
I read the letter twice.
Then I called Susan Greer.
"I've already received a copy," Susan said.
"Don't respond to it directly.
Don't call Fowler's office.
Don't contact Linda."
"She's asking for unsupervised access to Chloe."
"I saw that."
"After what she did to Chloe.
After the bribe."
"I know." Susan's voice was steady.
"This is a pressure tactic.
She's trying to make you react emotionally and make a mistake.
The letter has no legal force on its own.
It's a negotiating position."
"A negotiating position," I repeated.
"A bad-faith one.
But yes." A pause.
"How is Chloe?"
"She's at school.
She doesn't know about the letter."
"Keep it that way for now.
I'll have a response drafted by end of day.
In the meantime — does Linda have a key to your house?"
I hadn't thought of that.
"She did," I said.
"Daniel gave her one years ago."
"Change the locks today."
I called a locksmith.
Then I called Daniel.
He left work early.
He read the letter standing at the kitchen counter and set it down very carefully, the way you set something down when you don't trust your own hands.
"She wants access to Chloe," he said.
"Yes."
"After bribing her to lie."
"Yes."
He picked up his phone and called Raymond.
"Did you get a letter from someone named Fowler?"
"This morning," Raymond said.
"Mine threatened to countersue me for defamation if I made any statement about Linda's laptop."
"Are you still willing to make the statement?"
"More than ever."
Daniel called Patricia's attorney next.
The attorney had received a similar letter — threats of a harassment claim if Patricia pursued her case.
"She's trying to shut everyone down at once," Daniel said when he hung up.
"She almost has enough pressure points," I said.
"If Raymond backed off.
If Patricia got scared.
If Mark had agreed to be a witness."
"But Raymond didn't back off.
Patricia isn't scared.
And Mark said no."
"She doesn't know that yet."
Daniel looked at me.
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking she's going to find out all at once.
And I want to be there when she does."
Susan called at four o'clock.
She had filed a formal response to Fowler's letter and had simultaneously submitted Raymond's statement and the drive's verified contents to the family court as supporting documentation in a protective order application — specifically, an order restricting Linda's unsupervised contact with Chloe pending the outcome of the broader proceedings.
"The application will be heard next week," Susan said.
"In the meantime, she cannot compel visitation."
"And Fowler's letter?"
"Addressed.
He'll know by tomorrow morning that his client's position is considerably weaker than she told him it was."
I thought about Linda sitting across from Fowler in his office, explaining her version of events.
I thought about what she had left out.
I thought about the folder on Raymond's drive with my name on it, created fourteen months ago.
"Susan," I said, "is there anything we can do for Patricia?
For her custody case?"
"I've already been in contact with her attorney.
The documentation we have is directly applicable.
She has a strong basis to reopen." A pause.
"It won't be instant.
But it will move."
After I hung up, I went upstairs and stood in the doorway of Chloe's room.
She was at her desk doing homework, her tablet beside her, a glass of juice half-finished at her elbow.
She looked up.
"Is everything okay?"
"It's getting there," I said.
She studied me for a moment with those careful eyes of hers.
"Grandma sent me a message," she said.
"On my tablet.
It said she missed me and she was sorry things got confusing."
My chest went tight.
"When?"
"This afternoon.
I didn't answer." Chloe looked back at her homework.
"I didn't know what to say that was true."
I crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed.
"You don't have to answer," I said.
"I know." She kept writing.
"I just wanted you to know she tried."
I sat with her until dinner.
The new locks were on the doors.
Susan's response was filed.
Raymond's statement was on record.
May you like
Linda had made her move.
Now we waited for her to find out it hadn't worked.
