Chapter 6: The Lawyer
Her name was Ruth Callahan, and she worked out of a narrow office on the fourth floor of a building that smelled like old carpet and good coffee.
Her desk was covered in folders, but she found mine within thirty seconds of me sitting down.
She read through Daniel's documents without speaking.
When she finished, she set them down, folded her hands, and looked at me.
"He named you in the email to the university," she said.
"Yes."
"And you had no knowledge of the grant application."
"None.
I didn't even know he'd received the money."
"Do you have records of your employment during the period in question?
Pay stubs, tax filings, anything that shows you were the primary income source for the household?"
"I have everything," I said.
"I kept records because I was tracking what we spent on his tuition.
I have four years of bank statements."
Ruth nodded slowly.
"Good.
That's very good." She picked up one of the printed emails again.
"He used the phrase 'consented to the arrangement.' That's deliberate language.
He was trying to create the appearance of shared responsibility."
"Can he make that stick?"
"Not if your records show what you say they show." She set the email down.
"Here's where this stands.
The university audit is ongoing.
They haven't made a formal finding yet.
If they contact you before we've established your position, you say nothing and refer them to me.
Understood?"
"Understood."
"The grant fraud itself — that's a university disciplinary matter first, but depending on how the numbers look and whether the state's medical board gets involved, it could become something more serious for Nathan." She paused.
"He's about to begin his residency."
"Two weeks," I said.
"If the university makes a formal finding of fraud before he starts, the residency program will be notified.
Most programs have a conduct clause." She said it plainly, without satisfaction.
"This could affect his license before he's ever used it."
I had thought about this on the way over.
I had thought about it carefully.
"I'm not trying to destroy him," I said.
"I want my name off that email.
I want it on record that I had nothing to do with this.
Whatever happens to him after that—" I stopped.
"He made those choices.
I didn't."
Ruth looked at me for a moment.
"That's a reasonable position," she said.
"And honestly, it's the strongest one legally.
You're not the complainant.
You're the wrongly implicated party.
That's a very different thing."
She pulled a fresh legal pad toward her and uncapped a pen.
"Tell me everything from the beginning," she said.
"When you dropped out.
When you started working.
Every payment you made toward his tuition.
Every conversation you remember about finances."
I told her.
It took two hours.
She wrote without stopping.
When I finished, she had filled eleven pages.
"I'll need those bank statements as soon as possible," she said.
"And the tax returns — yours and any joint filings."
"I can have them to you by tomorrow."
"Good." She capped her pen.
"One more thing.
Nathan's lawyer — and he will have one by now — may reach out to you directly or through a third party.
They may try to offer you something in exchange for your cooperation with their version of events."
"What kind of something?"
"A favorable divorce settlement.
A cash payment.
A promise that this stays quiet." She looked at me steadily.
"Whatever they offer, you call me first.
You don't agree to anything.
You don't sign anything."
"I haven't signed the divorce papers yet either," I said.
Something shifted in Ruth's expression.
"Don't," she said.
"Not until we understand the full financial picture.
If he used marital funds to make those transfers to Priya—"
"Did he?"
She glanced at the bank records Daniel had provided.
"I want to look more closely.
But yes.
Possibly."
I sat with that for a moment.
"He thought I'd sign those papers and disappear," I said.
"People often underestimate the person they've wronged," Ruth said.
She closed the folder.
"It's one of the more reliable patterns in my work."
She stood and extended her hand.
"I'll be in touch by end of week," she said.
"In the meantime — don't contact Nathan.
Don't contact his family.
Don't speak to anyone at the university."
"What about Daniel?"
She considered.
"He's a witness.
Keep the line open, but don't discuss strategy with him.
If this escalates, I may need his statement."
I shook her hand and walked out.
In the elevator going down, I looked at my reflection in the steel doors.
Four years of double shifts.
Four years of crackers for dinner and Sunday calls to a woman who had already met my replacement.
Nathan had handed me an envelope and walked away.
May you like
He hadn't looked back once.
That was the last mistake he would make at my expense.
