Chapter 9: Morning
Julian called at 8:52 a.m.
I was already awake.
Dr.
Okafor had been in at seven, reviewed my overnight readings, and told me the critical window had passed without complication.
I would need two more days of observation, then a week of limited activity at home.
I had listened, nodded, and spent the hour after he left staring at the ceiling, running through the previous night in the ordered way I used to work through a failing product launch — identify what broke, trace it back to its source, decide what to rebuild and what to abandon entirely.
"The preservation notice went out at seven," Julian said.
"The acquisition firm's legal team confirmed receipt and said they would cooperate fully.
They were not pleased to hear their deal was being used as leverage in a personal dispute."
"What about the Securities Division?"
"Our letter was received and logged.
I spoke directly with the intake officer.
She confirmed that the complaint will be reviewed for bad-faith indicators before any preliminary investigation is opened." He paused.
"She also said, off the record, that the timing and circumstances were — her word — irregular."
"Good."
"There's more." A brief pause.
"Garrett Finch called my office at eight-fifteen this morning.
He said he wanted to withdraw the complaint."
I sat up slightly.
"Already?"
"He said he had filed it under a misunderstanding and that he had new information suggesting the matter had been resolved privately."
"Thomas told him to pull it."
"That would be my reading, yes.
Thomas likely realized last night that filing the complaint created a paper trail that pointed directly back to him." Julian's voice was careful.
"The problem for Thomas is that a regulatory complaint cannot simply be withdrawn by the filer once it's logged.
The Division still has to review it.
And now they also have our letter documenting the circumstances under which it was filed."
"So he tried to build a door and locked himself inside it."
"Precisely."
I looked at the window.
The morning light was flat and gray, the kind that made everything look temporary.
"What happens to Thomas now?" I asked.
"That depends on how far you want to take it," Julian said.
"The bad-faith filing alone could result in sanctions against Finch and, depending on what we can document about Thomas's role, potentially against Thomas as well.
If we can establish that Thomas directed Finch to file a false complaint as coercive leverage — which the timeline strongly suggests — we are looking at potential charges of extortion or attempted coercion."
"What do you need from me?"
"A formal statement about what Thomas said in this room last night.
Nurse Marisol and your parents were present.
If any of them are willing to provide corroborating statements, that significantly strengthens the record."
I thought about my father's face when Thomas handed me the letter.
The quiet edge in his voice.
That's enough.
"My father will give a statement," I said.
"I'll reach out to him this morning." Julian paused.
"Miranda.
Before I do — I want to ask you something directly."
"Go ahead."
"Is any part of this about the will?
About making them feel the consequences?" He wasn't accusing.
His voice was the same careful, neutral tone he used when he needed an honest answer.
"Because if it is, that's a legitimate reason.
I just need to know what we're building toward."
I thought about it honestly.
"The will change stands regardless of what happens with Thomas," I said.
"That decision was made before he walked through the door.
What Thomas did is a separate matter.
He tried to use a false legal threat to coerce me.
That has consequences independent of my family situation."
"All right," Julian said.
"That's the right answer."
"I know."
After I hung up, I called my father.
He answered on the second ring.
"Miranda." His voice was alert.
He'd been awake for a while.
"Julian needs a statement from you," I said.
"About what Thomas said last night.
What you heard."
A brief silence.
"I'll give it," he said.
"Whatever he needs."
"Thank you."
Another silence.
Longer.
"Miranda," he said.
"I've been sitting here since five in the morning trying to figure out how to say this."
"Then just say it."
"I failed you," he said.
"Not just yesterday.
For a long time.
And I think I told myself it was all right because you were capable and Lauren was fragile, and capable people don't need the same things fragile people do." His voice was steady but effortful.
"That was wrong.
It was a lazy kind of love.
And I'm sorry."
I looked at the window.
"I hear you," I said.
"That's not forgiveness," he said.
"I know that."
"No," I said.
"It's not.
But it's a start."
He exhaled slowly.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay."
After I hung up, I lay still for a moment.
Then I pressed the call button.
When Nurse Marisol appeared, I asked her if she would be willing to provide a brief statement to my attorney about what she had witnessed the previous evening.
She looked at me steadily.
May you like
"Yes," she said.
"I'll do that."
