Chapter 8: The Meeting He Requested
Daniel's attorney was a man named Gerald Fitch.
Patricia had dealt with him before.
She told me this in the elevator on the way up to the conference room, in the same tone she might use to describe a weather forecast.
"He'll open with sympathy," she said.
"He'll acknowledge Daniel made mistakes.
He'll propose something that sounds generous and isn't.
Don't respond to anything directly.
Let me work."
"Understood," I said.
The conference room had a long table and windows that looked out over the street.
Gerald Fitch was already seated when we arrived.
He was in his fifties, silver-haired, the kind of man who had learned to make a courtroom feel like a living room.
Daniel was not there.
"He thought it might be easier without him present," Gerald said, by way of explanation.
"For whom?" Patricia asked pleasantly, and sat down.
Gerald opened his folder.
"My client acknowledges that the situation has become more complicated than he anticipated.
He wants Jennifer to know that he has no desire to make this more difficult than it needs to be."
"That's good to hear," Patricia said.
"Given that he attempted to transfer assets from a frozen account on Saturday night."
Gerald's expression didn't change.
"That was an error in judgment made under emotional stress."
"It was a documented attempt to conceal marital assets.
We have the timestamp and the account records." Patricia opened her own folder.
"We also have records of a secondary transfer of eight thousand dollars made eleven days ago, moved from the joint household account into a third-party account.
We have the deposit confirmation."
Gerald was quiet for a moment.
"I'll need to review that with my client."
"Of course," Patricia said.
"In the meantime, here is our position."
She slid a document across the table.
I watched Gerald read it.
His expression stayed professional, but his eyes moved more slowly over the second page than the first.
"The house," he said.
"In Jennifer's name," Patricia confirmed.
"The mortgage is sixty-three percent funded by her documented income contributions.
The remaining equity is offset by the dissipated assets — the fifteen thousand in transfers, the eight thousand in concealed funds, the baptism deposit.
The numbers are in the appendix."
"My client will want the business account considered separately."
"Your client's business account received two transfers from the joint household account in the past fourteen months.
Those transfers are documented.
We're happy to consider them separately, yes."
Gerald set the document down.
"Jennifer," he said, turning to me directly.
"Daniel asked me to tell you that he understands the damage he's caused.
He wants to make this right.
He's prepared to be cooperative if the process is kept private."
Patricia started to speak.
I put my hand on the table.
"Private," I said.
"He's concerned about his professional reputation," Gerald said.
"His clients, his colleagues—"
"He threw a party in front of his clients and colleagues," I said.
"He made that choice.
I didn't."
"Jennifer—"
"He also named both children Lily," I said.
"I don't know if that's in your file."
Gerald blinked.
"Tell Daniel that private is not a condition I'm prepared to accept," I said.
"Tell him that if he wants to make this right, the way to do that is to agree to the terms in that document.
All of them.
Not a negotiated version.
All of them."
Gerald looked at Patricia.
"I'll need forty-eight hours," he said.
"You have twenty-four," Patricia said.
"After that, we file."
Gerald gathered his papers.
He was careful about it.
Unhurried.
A man who had learned not to show when a meeting had gone worse than expected.
At the door, he paused.
"One question," he said.
"Off the record."
Patricia looked at me.
I nodded.
"The woman," Gerald said.
"Chloe.
My client says she's been in contact with you.
He's concerned about what she may have shared."
"Your client should be," I said.
Gerald left.
Patricia waited until the elevator doors had closed before she turned to me.
"He didn't know about the eight thousand," she said.
"No," I said.
"He didn't."
She gathered her own papers.
"Twenty-four hours.
If Daniel is smart, he signs.
If he isn't, we file, and everything in that folder becomes part of the public record."
I looked out the window at the street below.
A delivery driver was double-parked.
A woman was walking a dog that had stopped to investigate a crack in the pavement.
My phone buzzed.
Robert.
Daniel's father.
I answered.
"Jennifer." His voice was steady and careful.
"I've just spoken with Gerald Fitch.
I want you to know that whatever Daniel decides in the next twenty-four hours, he will not be receiving any financial support from us.
Not for legal fees.
Not for anything else."
I stood very still.
"His mother and I have been talking since Saturday," he said.
"We have some personal account records that your attorney may find useful.
Things we didn't know the full picture of until this weekend.
I'd like to send them to Patricia Holt's office, if that's all right with you."
"Yes," I said.
"That's all right."
"Jennifer." He paused.
"I'm sorry we raised a man who did this to you."
I didn't have an answer for that.
Not one that was fair to him.
"Take care of Lily," I said.
May you like
"We intend to," he said.
"Both of us do."
