Chapter 8: The Thursday Problem
The lawyer's name was Patricia Osei.
Daniel had described her as thorough and unimpressed by difficult men, which was exactly what Claire needed.
She had an office above a dry cleaner on Birchwood Street and she wore reading glasses on a chain around her neck and she listened to Claire for forty-five minutes without writing a single note.
Then she picked up her pen.
"Tell me about the Thursdays," she said.
Claire glanced at me.
I'd come with her.
She'd asked me to.
"He started coming home late on Thursdays about eight months ago," Claire said.
"Always Thursdays specifically.
He said it was a client dinner.
The same client, every week, for eight months."
"Did you ever ask about the client?"
"Once.
He said it was a property developer.
Someone he was helping with a contract dispute." She paused.
"He got irritated when I asked follow-up questions.
So I stopped."
Patricia wrote something down.
"I'm going to need bank statements, tax returns for the last three years, mortgage documents, and anything you can find related to the trust or the March account." She looked up.
"Can you access any of those from home without him knowing?"
"Some of them.
We have a shared filing cabinet.
He keeps the key on his keychain but I know where the spare is."
"Get what you can.
Photograph everything.
Don't remove originals." Patricia set her pen down.
"Claire, I want to ask you something directly.
Has he ever been physically threatening toward you?"
"No."
"Verbally?"
A pause.
"Yes," Claire said.
"But he's careful about it.
It's never outright.
It's always just inside the line of what you could call a joke."
Patricia nodded like this was not a new answer.
"I want to talk about the text Barbara received," she said.
"*Back off.
You don't know what you're getting into.* That's a threat.
It's also a mistake.
It tells us that someone in Ethan's circle knows you've been asking questions and panicked enough to send that.
Panicked people make more mistakes." She looked at me.
"Have you received any other contact?"
"Nothing since."
"Keep the screenshot.
Don't respond.
Don't delete it." She turned back to Claire.
"How are things at home right now?
Does he suspect anything?"
"He was normal this morning.
Maybe a little quieter than usual.
He made coffee and left."
"Good.
Keep your behavior exactly the same.
Don't access any accounts from your home network.
Use your phone on mobile data only, away from the house." Patricia folded her hands.
"I want to file for a financial restraining order.
It will freeze both your marital assets and prevent any further transfers while the divorce proceedings begin.
To do that, I need the documentation from the bank — Barbara, that access log your husband requested."
"The bank said three to five business days."
"Then we wait three to five days.
In the meantime—" She slid a card across the desk to Claire.
"That's my personal number.
If anything changes at home.
If he says anything unusual.
If he asks about your parents' finances.
You call me."
Claire picked up the card and held it the way people hold things they didn't know they needed.
We were almost to the door when Patricia said, "One more thing."
We turned.
"The trust Diane described — a private trust with him as sole managing trustee, established before any formal separation.
That takes planning.
It takes legal help.
It takes someone who knows what they're doing." She looked at Claire steadily.
"This wasn't a reaction to a bad marriage.
This was a project."
Claire held the door handle.
"I know," she said.
"I think I've known for a while."
We walked out into the gray afternoon.
Claire put her sunglasses on even though the sky was overcast.
"You okay?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"But I'm going to be."
We reached the car.
I was unlocking it when Claire's phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
"It's Ethan," she said.
She answered it on speaker, hand steady.
"Hey," she said.
"What's up?"
"Where are you?" His voice was pleasant.
Careful.
"Running errands.
Why?"
"Just checking in." A pause.
"You left your laptop at home.
I noticed it was open."
Claire's eyes met mine over the roof of the car.
"I must have forgotten to close it," she said.
"I'll deal with it when I get home."
"Sure," Ethan said.
"No rush."
He hung up.
May you like
Claire lowered the phone slowly.
"He went through it," she said.
