Chapter 8: The Meeting
The attorney's name was Patricia Voss.
She had an office on the fourth floor of a building downtown, with a window that looked out over the street and a desk that was almost entirely clear except for a yellow legal pad and a single pen.
She shook my hand, gestured to the chairs across from her, and sat down without preamble.
"I've reviewed everything Nathan sent me," she said.
"Let me tell you where we stand."
"Please," I said.
"The original relinquishment is valid.
It was executed correctly, witnessed, notarized, and filed.
The duress argument is a long shot — courts are skeptical of it when the signing party was an adult with independent legal counsel, which Creighton was." She tapped her pen once against the pad.
"That's the good news."
"What's the other news?"
"Creighton's team is good.
They're not leading with the duress claim — that's a fallback.
What they're actually building toward is a petition based on the argument that circumstances have materially changed and that contact with the biological father would serve Sophie's best interests." She paused.
"They will argue that Sophie is now twelve, old enough to have a relationship with a biological parent, and that denying that relationship causes her harm."
"She doesn't know he exists," I said.
"That will be part of their argument," Patricia said carefully.
"They may suggest that keeping that information from her has itself caused harm."
The room was very quiet.
"They're going to try to make me the problem," I said.
"They're going to try to reframe the narrative, yes." She looked at me steadily.
"Which is why the private investigator matters.
They're looking for anything that supports the idea that Sophie's current home environment is less stable than it should be.
The fact that they approached Nathan's half-brother suggests they've done significant background research."
"What do we do?"
"Several things." She turned to a fresh page.
"First, we file a response to the petition that establishes the validity of the original relinquishment and challenges the standing of the duress claim.
Second, we document everything — Sophie's school records, medical records, her life here, her stability.
Third—" She paused.
"I want to know everything about that email."
Nathan looked at me.
I had told him about it that morning, on the drive over.
He had been quiet for most of the drive.
"I found it last night," I said.
"Sent three months after Sophie was born.
I never replied."
"Forward it to me today," Patricia said.
"It matters because it establishes that Creighton made contact and you did not respond.
His team may try to use it to argue you were hostile to any relationship from the beginning.
We need to get ahead of that."
"I didn't reply because I was alone with a newborn and I was exhausted and I didn't know what to say to him," I said.
"I understand," Patricia said.
"And that's exactly what we'll say." She set her pen down.
"Mrs.
Calloway.
I want to be honest with you.
This is manageable.
The law is on your side.
But it will not be quick, and it will not be comfortable.
Creighton's team will push hard, and there will be moments when it feels like they're winning."
"Will they try to talk to Sophie?"
"They may petition for it.
A guardian ad litem could be appointed to represent Sophie's interests independently." She paused.
"If that happens, the most important thing is that Sophie is prepared.
Not coached — prepared.
She should understand, in age-appropriate terms, what is happening and why."
My throat tightened.
"She's twelve," I said.
"She just learned to ride a bike without training wheels."
Patricia's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes did.
"I know," she said quietly.
"I'm sorry you're in this position."
We left an hour later.
Nathan held the door for me as we stepped out onto the street.
The morning was bright and cold.
"She's right," I said.
"We have to tell Sophie."
"Not yet," Nathan said.
"Not until we file the response and see how Creighton's team reacts.
We have a few weeks."
I nodded.
A few weeks.
We walked to the car.
I got in.
I sat for a moment before starting the engine.
Then my phone rang.
An unknown number with a Portland area code.
Paul Garrett.
The private investigator.
I answered it.
"Mrs.
May you like
Calloway," he said.
"I think it's time we spoke directly."
