Chapter 7: Two O'Clock
Patricia Hale's office was on the fourth floor of a building downtown, clean and quiet, with good light and no family photos on the walls — which I found oddly reassuring.
She was in her mid-fifties.
Gray at the temples.
She shook my hand and got straight to it.
"Talk me through the timeline," she said.
"Start from the beginning."
I did.
All of it.
The party, the lie about the budget cuts, Melanie, Jessica, the lease, the ring, the bank statements, the text from Tom's attorney.
Patricia took notes without looking up.
When I finished, she set her pen down.
"The financial transfers are the most significant issue," she said.
"If we can establish that he was deliberately moving marital assets into a concealed account, that changes the entire shape of the divorce settlement."
"Can we establish it?"
"The documents Jessica gave you are a strong start.
We'll need a forensic accountant to trace the full picture — how much moved, when, and where it went." She looked at me.
"The shell company is the key.
If we can show it was created specifically to receive transferred marital assets, a judge will take a very dim view of that."
"He texted me through his attorney this morning," I said.
"About a collaborative separation."
Patricia's expression didn't change, but something behind it sharpened.
"He's trying to get you to negotiate before you know what you're negotiating over.
If you'd agreed to a collaborative process before you found those documents, you might have signed away rights to funds you didn't know existed."
The room was very quiet.
"He was going to let me agree to something fair," I said slowly, "when fair wasn't actually fair at all."
"That's the working theory," Patricia said.
"We'll know more once the forensic accountant reviews the statements."
She slid a document across the desk.
"In the meantime, I'm filing a motion to freeze the joint accounts.
He won't be able to make further transfers once that's in place.
He'll be notified when it happens."
"He'll know I've found something."
"Yes," she said.
"And that's when things usually get harder before they get easier." She looked at me steadily.
"Is there anything else he might do when he realizes you've lawyered up and frozen the accounts?
Anyone he might go to?
Anyone he might try to use?"
I thought about it.
"His mother," I said.
"She watches Emma sometimes.
She's always been on his side, but I didn't think she knew about Jessica."
"Does Emma have a set schedule with her?"
"Every other Wednesday."
"Keep it normal," Patricia said.
"Don't disrupt Emma's routine.
Don't say anything to her yet.
Children pick up on more than we realize."
I nodded.
"One more thing," Patricia said.
She leaned forward slightly.
"Jessica.
You said she's willing to speak to us."
"She said without hesitation."
"Good.
Her testimony about the documents — how she received them, what Tom told her about them, when she read them — that's going to matter.
She's a witness to his intent."
I thought about Jessica sitting across from me that morning, folder flat on the table, hands pressed down like she was trying to keep something from floating away.
"She's not a bad person," I said.
"No," Patricia agreed.
"She's a witness.
That's what we need her to be."
I signed the initial paperwork.
Patricia walked me to the elevator.
"He's going to call you tonight," she said.
"Or come to you.
He'll have heard from his attorney that you didn't respond.
He'll want to know why."
"What do I say?"
"That you're thinking things through.
That you'll be in touch." She pressed the elevator button.
"Don't argue.
Don't accuse.
Don't let him know what you have."
The elevator opened.
"One more thing," she said.
"Check your home computer.
Any shared accounts, cloud storage, email.
If he suspects you've been looking at documents, he may try to access or delete files remotely."
The doors closed.
I stood in the lobby for a moment.
Then I walked to my car and sat in it for a full five minutes before I started the engine.
My phone rang.
Tom.
I let it go to voicemail.
He left one.
His voice was calm, almost gentle.
He said he'd been thinking about what he'd said at lunch.
That he meant it.
That he wanted to do this right.
That he loved me and he loved Emma and he hoped I knew that.
May you like
I saved the voicemail.
Then I drove to pick up my daughter from school.
