Chapter 11: Seventeen Days
The next two weeks moved in a different kind of time.
Patrick filed Diane's formal statement on day three.
It was forty-two pages, with attachments.
The family court received it the same afternoon Rebecca's side received their copy.
Rebecca's solicitor called Patrick within the hour.
Patrick relayed the call to me that evening.
"They want to negotiate," he said.
"What kind of negotiation?"
"Rebecca withdraws the filing.
You agree not to pursue the fraud documentation through civil channels."
I was quiet for a moment.
"No," I said.
"I told them that would likely be your answer." A pause.
"They'll push harder before the hearing.
Expect another contact."
On day six, Callum called me directly.
I almost didn't answer.
Then I did.
"I think we've both been caught in something that got out of hand," he said.
His voice was easy, practiced.
"Rebecca acted impulsively.
I gave her advice that was poorly framed.
No one intended harm to your daughter."
"She's named in a legal filing as emotionally unstable."
"That can be withdrawn."
"It already exists."
"Nathan." His tone shifted — not quite a threat, but the shape of one.
"You're a reasonable man.
You have a daughter to think about.
A long court process is not good for a child.
It's not good for anyone.
There's a clean way through this."
"I'm sure there is," I said.
"My solicitor will be in touch."
I ended the call and forwarded the recording to Patrick.
I had put the phone on record before I answered.
On day eleven, the school's written statement arrived — confirming no parental consent had been given for any external sessions, and that the contact made in Rebecca's name had been logged and referred to their safeguarding lead.
On day thirteen, Patrick's fraud colleague filed a formal complaint with the relevant regulatory body regarding the solicitor Callum had recommended to Rebecca — citing the emails, the financial strategy document, and Diane's statement as supporting evidence.
On day fifteen, Rebecca's solicitor requested a forty-eight hour extension to the preliminary hearing.
The court denied it.
On the morning of day seventeen, I drove to the family court with Patrick.
Emily was with my mother.
Before I left, Emily handed me a folded piece of paper.
"What's this?" I asked.
"I drew it," she said.
"For good luck."
I unfolded it in the car.
It was a drawing of two figures — one tall, one small — standing in front of a house.
Both figures had large circular heads and straight-line smiles.
Above them, in careful, slightly uneven letters, she had written: *US.*
I folded it and put it in my jacket pocket, next to where the note had been seventeen days before.
A different piece of paper.
The same pocket.
Patrick glanced over.
"Ready?" he said.
"Yes," I said.
The hearing lasted four hours.
Rebecca's barrister presented the psychological report, the claims about inconsistent parenting, the argument for urgency.
Patrick presented the school's written statement.
Diane's forty-two page testimony.
The email chain in which Emily was described as *the primary complication.* The recording of Callum's phone call.
The timeline showing that the psychological sessions had been arranged without parental consent using a false professional identity.
The judge asked Rebecca's barrister three questions.
The barrister answered two of them.
The third question — regarding the false identity used to contact the school — was met with a request for a brief recess.
The recess lasted twelve minutes.
When proceedings resumed, Rebecca's barrister informed the court that his client wished to withdraw the filing.
The judge accepted the withdrawal and added a formal notation to the record: the filing had been brought without sufficient evidentiary basis and with documentation obtained through deceptive means.
The notation would remain on the record.
Outside the courtroom, Rebecca stood with her barrister near the far wall.
She looked smaller than she had in the chapel.
Not defeated exactly — but diminished.
She looked at me once.
I didn't say anything.
May you like
Patrick put his hand briefly on my shoulder.
"Let's go," he said.
