Chapter 7: Monday Morning
Richard Blackwood's office occupied the top floor of a building on Michigan Avenue that had been in the family for thirty years.
I had never been inside it.
Ethan had asked if I wanted to be present on Monday.
I had said yes before I finished thinking about it, and then spent the weekend wondering if that had been the right answer.
It was.
Eleanor Hale arrived at ten o'clock with Marcus beside her and an attorney I didn't recognize walking half a step behind them.
Eleanor was in her sixties, silver-haired and upright, dressed in the particular way of women who have spent their lives communicating authority through clothing.
She looked at me when she entered the conference room, and her expression did not change, which told me she had prepared for my presence.
Marcus Hale was younger than I expected.
Mid-forties.
He had Victoria's coloring but none of her composure.
His eyes moved to the documents already laid out on the conference table and stayed there.
Richard sat at the head of the table.
Ethan sat to his right.
I sat beside Ethan.
Richard's attorney, a compact woman named Grace Ellison who had said exactly four words to me before the meeting began — "Good morning.
Sit here." — opened a folder.
"We'll begin with the agreement," Grace said.
Marcus's attorney started to speak.
"You'll have time," Grace said pleasantly, and he stopped.
She laid three documents on the table.
The non-contact agreement.
A bank record.
A printout of an email chain.
"The agreement was drafted by Mr.
Hale's firm in the name of Claire Ashworth without her knowledge or consent.
The signature on page three is a forgery.
We have a handwriting analysis confirming this." She set a fourth document beside the others.
"The bank account opened in Ms.
Ashworth's name, through which a payment of forty thousand dollars was transferred, was established using fraudulently obtained identification.
Mr.
Hale's firm processed the paperwork."
Marcus's attorney leaned forward.
"My client acknowledges certain procedural irregularities — "
"Forgery and fraud are not procedural irregularities," Grace said.
She turned to the email printout.
"The instruction to draft the agreement came from this email address, which belongs to Eleanor Hale.
The instruction was explicit.
I'll read it." She picked up the page.
"'Marcus — she needs to disappear cleanly.
No contact, no claims, no complications.
Make it permanent and make it look voluntary.
The usual account will cover your fee.'"
Eleanor looked at the table.
"Make it permanent," Richard said quietly.
"You wrote that."
"I was protecting my daughter's future," Eleanor said.
"Ethan was the right match for Victoria.
This girl was a complication.
I handled it."
"She was pregnant," Ethan said.
"I didn't know that at the time."
"But you found out."
Eleanor's chin lifted slightly.
"By then the arrangement was already in place."
"And you said nothing."
"What would you have had me do?
Destroy everything I had built for Victoria on the basis of a — "
"She was carrying my child." Ethan's voice was very controlled.
"My son.
And you buried it."
"I made a decision that I believed — "
"You made a decision that cost me six years of my son's life." He leaned forward slightly.
"And you sat at my family's table for six years knowing it."
Eleanor looked at him.
For the first time, something in her face moved.
"I am not going to apologize for protecting my family," she said.
"No," Richard said.
"But you are going to face the consequences of what you did to mine."
Grace Ellison closed her folder.
"Ms.
Hale, Mr.
Hale — our position is as follows.
We will be filing a civil complaint for fraud, forgery, and tortious interference.
We will also be referring the matter to the Illinois Attorney Registration and Disciplinary Commission regarding Mr.
Hale's conduct as a licensed attorney." She paused.
"However, we are prepared to discuss a resolution that does not require full litigation, provided certain conditions are met promptly and completely."
Marcus's attorney pulled him aside.
A brief, tense exchange.
Marcus looked at Grace.
"What conditions?"
"Full written disclosure of every action taken.
Every document, every communication, every instruction.
Signed affidavits.
Cooperation with any subsequent proceedings.
And a formal written acknowledgment, suitable for any future legal purpose, that the agreement signed in Ms.
Ashworth's name was fraudulent and carries no legal weight."
Marcus looked at Eleanor.
Eleanor looked at the table.
"Mother," Marcus said quietly.
She didn't answer.
"Mother." His voice was different now.
Younger.
Tired.
"It's over."
Eleanor's hands, folded on the table, tightened once.
Then she looked at Grace Ellison.
"Send the paperwork," she said.
The meeting lasted another forty minutes.
Documents were reviewed.
Timelines were confirmed.
Marcus's attorney asked twice about confidentiality and was told twice that confidentiality was not on the table.
When it was over, Eleanor stood.
She looked at me once more before she left.
I had expected coldness.
What I saw instead was something more complicated — a woman who had spent decades making decisions for other people and was only now, in this room, beginning to understand the cost.
She didn't speak.
She walked out.
Marcus paused at the door.
He looked at Ethan.
"I'm sorry," he said.
It came out flat, inadequate, the words too small for the space they were meant to fill.
Ethan said nothing.
Marcus left.
Grace gathered her documents.
"I'll have the formal complaint ready by Wednesday.
The affidavits within the week." She looked at me.
"The fraudulent agreement is void.
It has been since it was signed.
You were never bound by it."
I had known that intellectually for three weeks, since Richard had shown me the documents in the bakery.
Hearing it said out loud in a room with witnesses was different.
"Thank you," I said.
Grace nodded and left.
Richard, Ethan, and I sat in the conference room as the building settled into its ordinary Monday morning sounds around us.
"Well," Richard said finally.
"Yes," Ethan said.
Richard looked at me.
"How are you?"
I thought about it honestly.
"I'm not sure yet."
He nodded as though that was the right answer.
"Noah has a birthday coming up."
"In six weeks."
"He mentioned wanting a telescope." Richard paused.
"He told me during the cupcake visit.
He said he wants to see Jupiter."
"He's been asking about Jupiter for three months."
Richard looked at Ethan.
"We should get him a telescope."
Ethan looked at his father.
Something passed between them — old and complicated and not yet resolved, but present.
May you like
"Yes," Ethan said.
"We should."
