Chapter 4: The Attorney
Her name was Grace Okafor, and she did not smile when she shook my hand.
Her office was on the fourteenth floor of a building on Wacker Drive.
No photographs on the walls.
No plants on the windowsill.
A desk with three neat stacks of folders and a yellow legal pad with nothing written on it yet.
She sat down, looked at the envelope Carol had given me, and said: "Start from the beginning.
Don't summarize.
Tell me everything in order."
I told her everything in order.
She didn't interrupt once.
She wrote on the legal pad in small, tight letters.
When I finished, she set her pen down and looked at me.
"How old is your daughter?"
"Two."
"And the mark on her cheek — Dr.
Howard filed the mandatory report last night?"
"Yes.
I have a copy."
"The previous thirty-seven items — they're all photographed and stored where?"
"Password-protected cloud album.
I also emailed copies to myself from three separate accounts over the past eighteen months."
Grace looked at me for a long moment.
"Most people come in here with a feeling," she said.
"You came in with a file."
"I knew this day was coming."
"How long have you known?"
"Since the first bruise Diane left on Lily's arm and Jason told me she'd bumped into a doorframe."
Grace picked up her pen again.
"The woman in Oregon — Mara.
She's willing to speak?"
"Carol confirmed it this morning.
She has her own documentation.
And there's an open case number."
Grace's pen stopped.
"An open case number from what proceeding?"
"The divorce.
Mara's attorney filed for protective documentation during the custody dispute.
Jason's family hired someone who got it buried.
The case was never formally dismissed — it was just left open."
Grace set the pen down a second time.
She looked at the envelope.
Then at me.
"Who buried it?"
"We don't know yet."
"I want Mara's attorney's name.
The original filing date.
And I want Carol's recordings transferred to a secure server today — not tomorrow, today.
Do you understand why?"
"Because if Jason's family finds out Carol has them, they'll move to discredit her."
"Or worse." Grace stood.
"I'm going to make three calls this morning.
One to a colleague in family court.
One to a contact at the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services — because that mandatory report from Dr.
Howard triggered a review process that is already running whether you want it to or not.
And one to an investigator I trust."
"An investigator for what?"
"To find out who buried Mara's case." She picked up the legal pad.
"Because if someone with legal standing interfered with a protective filing, that is not a family matter anymore."
She walked to the door and held it open.
"Go home.
Be with your daughter.
Don't answer Jason's calls.
Don't answer Diane's.
If Brooke contacts you, screenshot it and send it to me immediately." She paused.
"And Mrs.
Bennett—"
"Emily."
"Emily." A pause.
"They are going to come at you hard.
In the next forty-eight hours, someone from that family will do something that is meant to frighten you.
I need you to be ready for that."
I picked up my bag.
"I've been ready for three years," I said.
She almost smiled.
Not quite.
I took the elevator down alone.
On the street, I called Carol.
"Grace is moving," I said.
"She wants the recordings transferred today."
"Already done," Carol said.
"I sent them to a secure server last night before I came up to your apartment.
I also sent copies to my own attorney in Evanston."
I stopped walking.
"You have your own attorney."
"I've had one since Mara left," Carol said.
"I've been waiting for someone to be ready to use what I had."
The traffic moved around me on Wacker Drive.
A cab horn.
Someone's coffee cup hitting a trash can.
"Carol," I said.
"Why didn't Jason's father stop any of this?"
The silence that followed was different from the others.
Heavier.
"Robert Bennett," she said finally, "d*ed four years ago.
And the six months before he d*ed, he and Diane were not living in the same house."
"Why?"
"Because he found out about Mara," she said.
"And he tried to do something about it.
And Diane made sure he didn't get the chance."
The cab horn again.
Louder this time.
"What did she do?" I asked.
"That," Carol said quietly, "is what the investigator needs to find."
I stood on the sidewalk for a long moment after she hung up.
Then I walked to the parking garage, got in my car, and drove back to Lily.
She was awake when I got home, sitting in the middle of the living room floor, stacking plastic cups into a tower.
She looked up when I walked in.
Her cheek was almost clear.
She held up the top cup.
"Mama," she said.
"Look."
"I see it," I said.
"Don't let it fall."
She turned back to her tower, very serious, very careful.
I sat on the floor beside her and watched her work.
My phone buzzed.
A message from a number I recognized this time.
Jason: *Mom is talking to her attorney.
You need to come home and we need to fix this before it gets worse.*
I set the phone face-down on the carpet.
Lily's tower wobbled.
May you like
She steadied it with both hands, her tongue pressed to her lip in concentration.
It held.
