Chapter 8: Richard's Office
Richard Okafor had been practicing law for thirty-four years and had an office that smelled like old paper and good sense.
He shook my hand when Walter introduced me, looked at the folder I'd brought — the fake notice, the business registration, Priya's notes, the printout of Marcus's address history — and read everything without saying a word.
Then he set it down and looked at Walter.
"You didn't sign anything after the wedding?
No property transfers, no account additions, no power of attorney?"
"Nothing," Walter said.
"She asked.
I kept saying I'd get to it."
"And the business registration — you didn't authorize her to use this address?"
"She told me she was handling paperwork.
I didn't see the form."
Richard made a note.
"The registration is a problem for her, not for you.
Using a residential address for a business without the property owner's consent — that's something we can move on." He tapped the fake notice.
"This is worse for her.
Distribution of a document designed to resemble an official legal notice, with a fabricated case number.
That's not a gray area."
"Is it criminal?" I asked.
"It could be.
At minimum it's actionable.
Combined with the pattern Marcus Reilly is documenting —" He paused.
"Walter, I want to be direct with you.
What Mr.
Reilly is describing, if his documentation supports it, is a pattern of calculated financial targeting.
That changes the nature of this from a difficult marriage to something the courts take seriously."
Walter looked at his hands.
"What do I do first?"
"First, you don't transfer anything.
No accounts, no deed, nothing.
Second, you let me handle communication with her directly from this point.
If she approaches you about paperwork, you tell her to speak to me." Richard leaned forward.
"Third — and I want you to hear this clearly — you are not in trouble.
You caught this early.
The house is yours.
Your accounts are yours.
What she built was a foundation for something she hasn't been able to execute yet.
We're stopping it before she does."
Walter exhaled.
It was the first time I'd seen his shoulders drop in weeks.
"What about the neighbors?" he said.
"The notices she sent."
"If any of them want to file a complaint with the city regarding the false notice, that strengthens the overall picture.
It's their choice." Richard looked at me.
"You said six families received it?"
"Six.
All documented.
I have photographs."
"Good." He made another note.
"I'll reach out to Marcus Reilly's documentation today.
If it's what he says it is, we'll be in a strong position by end of week."
We stood to leave.
At the door, Richard put a hand on Walter's shoulder.
"You should know," he said, "that the man who came to me with nothing — the one before Mr.
Reilly — I represented him.
Pro bono.
He got his savings back.
It took eighteen months, but he got them back." He paused.
"You came to me before she got started.
That matters."
Walter nodded.
In the parking lot, he stopped beside his car and looked up at the sky for a moment.
"Carol would have seen through her in ten minutes," he said.
"Probably five," I said.
He almost laughed.
It wasn't quite a laugh.
But it was close.
His phone buzzed.
He looked at it.
A text from Brooke: *We need to talk before you do anything you can't undo.
Come home.*
He showed it to me.
Then he typed back: *Speak to Richard.*
May you like
He put the phone in his pocket.
"Let's go home," he said.
