Chapter 7: Everything He Tried Next
Patricia called me at my sister Ruth's house at seven the next morning.
"He's been busy," she said.
I was sitting at Ruth's kitchen table with a cup of tea I hadn't touched.
Ruth was pretending to read the newspaper at the other end of the table.
She had not asked me a single intrusive question since I arrived the night before, which was the kindest thing she could have done.
"Tell me," I said.
"He called my office at six-fifteen this morning.
Before we opened.
Left a message saying he wanted to discuss an amicable resolution and that you had acted impulsively due to stress." A pause.
"Then at six-forty he called again and told my receptionist that the lottery winnings were acquired during the marriage and therefore subject to equitable division."
"Is that true?"
"It's an argument he can make.
It's not a strong one given the circumstances, but he'll make it." Her voice was steady.
"He also contacted the lottery commission directly.
He told them there was a dispute over the ticket's ownership and asked them to freeze the claim."
Ruth's newspaper lowered slightly.
"Can he do that?" I asked.
"He can file the request.
It creates a delay.
It doesn't change ownership — the ticket is in your name, purchased with your money, and I have the receipt from the retailer.
But it means we move faster." She paused.
"There's something else."
"Tell me."
"He called Abigail last night.
She recorded it."
I set down my tea.
"He told her that if she spoke to you again or cooperated with your lawyer, he would file for full custody of Caleb immediately.
He said he had documentation showing she was an unfit mother." Patricia's voice was careful.
"He said he had photographs."
Ruth put the newspaper all the way down.
"What photographs?" I said.
"We don't know yet.
It may be nothing.
It may be fabricated.
Either way, he's using that child as a weapon, which is exactly what Abigail told you he would do." A brief silence.
"Gwen, I need you to make a decision.
We can proceed cautiously — negotiate, delay, try to reach a settlement.
Or we can move aggressively and file first.
Fraud.
Financial coercion.
Misappropriation of marital assets."
"File," I said.
No hesitation.
"All right." I could hear her writing.
"I'll need you in the office by ten.
And I'll need Abigail there too, if she's willing."
"She'll be there," I said.
I called Abigail immediately after.
She picked up on the second ring.
"He called you," I said.
"Last night.
I recorded it." Her voice was tight.
"He said he had photos of me at a bar from eight months ago.
I was there for twenty minutes for a friend's birthday.
Caleb was with my mother." She stopped.
"He's going to say I'm unstable.
That I drink.
That I leave Caleb unsupervised."
"Is any of it true?"
"No."
"Then bring the recording and come to Patricia's office at ten." I paused.
"He's running scared, Abigail.
Scared people make mistakes."
A silence.
"He's also dangerous when he's scared," she said.
"I know." I looked across the table at Ruth, who was watching me with the quiet, steady expression she had worn at our mother's funeral and at my wedding and at every hard moment in between.
"But so am I.
I just didn't know it until now."
At Patricia's office, the three of us sat around a conference table and built the case piece by piece.
The bank transfers: four years, sixty-one separate transactions, totalling just over three hundred and eight thousand dollars moved out of the joint business account into the Dellwood Avenue property and associated expenses.
The fabricated medical invoices: Patricia had already contacted two of the specialists Douglas had claimed to use.
Neither had any record of treating him for the condition he had described.
The property title: purchased in Abigail's name using funds traced directly to the refinancing Gwen had signed fourteen months prior.
The recorded phone call from the previous night: Douglas's voice, unmistakable, threatening a woman with the loss of her child if she told the truth.
Patricia set her pen down and looked at both of us.
"This is not a divorce case anymore," she said.
"This is fraud.
And I think we both know it."
My phone buzzed on the table.
Douglas: I know you're with her.
This is your last chance to come home and talk about this like adults.
If you don't, I will make sure you regret every decision you've made in the last forty-eight hours.
I turned the phone so Patricia could read it.
She looked at it for exactly two seconds.
"Screenshot that," she said.
May you like
"That's a threat.
We're adding it to the file."
