Chapter 6: The Morning Gerald Made His Move
I woke at six to Patricia checking my IV line.
"You have a visitor," she said quietly.
"He's been in the waiting area since five-thirty.
Says he's your father-in-law."
Barron.
I hadn't thought about Barron since the night on the kitchen floor — the moment I'd heard him hesitate, his voice uncertain through the wall of television noise.
*Shouldn't we take her to the emergency room?*
He was the only one who had asked.
"Send him in," I said.
He looked smaller than I remembered.
Barron Harren was a tall man, broad-shouldered, the kind of physical presence that fills a doorway.
But he came into my hospital room with his shoulders curved inward and his hat in both hands, turning it slowly.
He didn't sit down.
He stood near the door, looking at my elevated leg, and he didn't say anything for a long moment.
"I heard them take Celina last night," he finally said.
"From the station.
Gerald called me."
"What did Gerald tell you?"
"That you'd made a mistake.
That you didn't understand how these things work." He looked up.
"That's what he always says.
*She doesn't understand how these things work.*"
"Did he say that about Donna?"
Barron's jaw tightened.
He looked back at my leg.
"Sit down, Barron," I said.
He sat.
"I need to know something," I said.
"The night it happened.
You asked Luke to take me to the hospital.
He said no.
And you let it go."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He turned the hat in his hands.
"Because I have let things go my entire marriage.
Because Celina decides and I — I find a reason it's acceptable." He stopped turning the hat.
"I have been finding reasons for forty years."
"The money," I said.
"Did you know about the account?"
He nodded once.
Slowly.
"I didn't know the amount.
I knew there was an account.
Celina said it was a family fund.
For emergencies." He looked at me directly for the first time.
"I told myself that was true."
My phone buzzed.
Dana's number.
"I have to take this," I said.
Barron stood immediately, reaching for the door.
"Wait," I said.
He stopped.
"I'm not asking you to testify against your wife.
I'm not asking you for anything.
But if you know something that matters — something that could show this wasn't just Celina acting alone — I need you to think about whether you can live with staying quiet."
He stood with his hand on the door frame.
The same posture Dana had used the night before, I realized.
Everyone in this story seemed to pause at doorways.
"Gerald called me this morning," Barron said.
"Before I came here.
He told me to find out what you know.
What your lawyer has.
What you're planning to do next."
He turned and looked at me.
"I'm telling you that because I am done finding reasons."
He left before I could answer.
Dana's voice on the phone was crisp and fast.
"Gerald filed a complaint with the state bar this morning.
He's claiming Dana Whitfield obtained the warrant through misrepresentation.
It's frivolous, but it's designed to slow us down and create noise."
"Can he do that?"
"He just did.
It won't go anywhere, but it buys him time and puts my name in a complaint file." A pause.
"He also called the hospital administrator.
He's claiming you're not mentally competent to make legal decisions and requesting a psychiatric evaluation be ordered."
The room felt very still.
"He's trying to discredit me."
"Yes.
Which means he's scared." Dana's voice didn't waver.
"I need you to do something uncomfortable.
I need you to call your employer today.
Your direct supervisor.
Before Gerald or Luke does.
Tell them you've been injured, you're recovering, and you'll be in touch about your return.
Don't mention the legal situation.
Just make contact."
"Why?"
"Because Luke told you to quit your job.
If you lose that job while this case is active, Gerald will use it to argue financial dependency and complicate the asset division." A beat.
"You still have a job, Clover.
Keep it."
After I hung up, I sat with the phone in my lap.
Gerald had moved fast.
The bar complaint, the psychiatric evaluation request — both filed before eight in the morning.
He hadn't panicked.
He had a plan ready.
Which meant he had done this before, or he had prepared for the possibility that someone, someday, would not take the house and sign the paper.
I called my supervisor, Helen, at eight-fifteen.
She answered immediately.
"Clover.
I've been trying to reach you for three days.
Are you all right?"
"I'm in the hospital," I said.
"I had an injury at home.
I'm recovering."
"What kind of injury?"
"A broken leg."
A pause.
"Clover.
Do you need anything?
Do you need HR involved?"
"Not yet," I said.
"But Helen — if anyone calls you about me.
Anyone at all.
Please let me know before you respond to them."
Another pause.
Longer.
"Someone already called," she said.
"This morning.
A man who said he was your husband's attorney.
He told me you'd had a breakdown and were on indefinite medical leave."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"That is not true," I said.
"I know," Helen said.
"I told him I'd need written documentation from your physician before making any changes to your employment status.
He hung up."
"Thank you, Helen."
"Clover." Her voice dropped.
"Whatever is happening — you have people here.
All right?"
I set the phone down.
Gerald had called my employer before eight in the morning to have me declared mentally unfit and removed from my job.
He wasn't slowing me down.
May you like
He was trying to dismantle me piece by piece before the case could move forward.
And somewhere across the city, Renata was waiting for a reason to speak.
