Chapter 6: The Morning She Came Back
Gerald Fitch's office was on the fourth floor of a building that smelled of old paper and carpet cleaner.
He was a compact man in his sixties with reading glasses pushed up on his forehead and a desk covered in organized stacks that only he could navigate.
He shook my hand, sat me down, and spread the documents Dara had given me across the desk without a word.
He read for four minutes.
I counted.
"Right," he said finally.
"The co-management agreement is not valid.
The witness firm doesn't exist — I confirmed that this morning before you arrived.
The signature is fraudulent, which means the document is fraudulent, which means she has no legal standing in this property whatsoever." He looked up.
"She knew that.
She was counting on you not checking."
"She was counting on me being too afraid to check."
"Yes." He set the page down.
"The financial transfers are a separate matter and a more serious one.
Forty thousand over eight months, from accounts she had access to through your late wife.
That is not a civil dispute.
That is theft.
Potentially fraud.
Depending on how the transfers were structured, it may carry additional charges." He paused.
"I want to bring in a colleague who handles financial crime.
With your permission."
"Do it."
"I'll also need you to make a formal statement about what you found when you came home.
Your daughter's condition.
The blanket.
The uniform.
The mark on her face." He held my gaze.
"Child protective services will likely need to be involved, at least to document what happened.
That protects Thora.
It also creates an official record."
"Whatever protects her."
Gerald nodded.
He reached for his pen.
"Now.
She gave you a deadline.
I'd like to use it."
"How?"
"Let her come to you.
Don't reach out.
Don't respond to her lawyer.
When she makes contact, you tell her you'd like to meet — here, in this office — to discuss the agreement.
She'll think she has you.
She'll come in confident." He set the pen down.
"And then we show her what we have."
---
She called at eleven the next morning.
I was in the kitchen with Thora, who was drawing at the table — a picture of a house with a yellow door and a garden full of round, lopsided flowers.
She had not mentioned Heloise since the night I came home.
But she had not let me out of her sight either.
I answered on the third ring.
"Daniel." Heloise's voice was smooth.
Warm, almost.
"I think we got off to a bad start the other night.
I'd like to resolve this without it becoming unpleasant for either of us."
"I'd like that too," I said.
"Can you come to my solicitor's office?
Tomorrow at ten.
I think it's better to handle this properly."
A beat of silence.
"Your solicitor."
"Gerald Fitch.
You may know the name — he handled Nora's estate."
Another silence, longer.
"Of course.
Tomorrow at ten."
She hung up.
Thora looked up from her drawing.
"Who was that?"
"Someone I have a meeting with tomorrow."
She looked back down at her paper.
She picked up the yellow crayon and colored in the door very carefully, staying inside the lines.
"Daddy," she said, without looking up.
"Is she going to come back here?"
I crouched down beside her chair.
"No, sweetheart.
She's not coming back here."
Thora kept coloring.
"Promise?"
May you like
"Promise."
She nodded once, satisfied, and reached for the green crayon to start the garden.
