Chapter 7: What Patricia Already Knew
Patricia Wren had been a family law attorney for twenty-six years.
She had a small office above a dry cleaner on Clement Street, which she had occupied for nineteen of those years because, as she once told me, clients who are already humiliated do not need to walk through a marble lobby to ask for help.
Her desk was covered in organized stacks of paper that looked chaotic and were not.
She made her own coffee.
She did not have a receptionist.
I had found her through a neighbor whose divorce she had handled three years earlier.
The neighbor had told me: she is not the loudest person in the room, but she is always the most prepared.
I sat across from her the following Monday morning with Noah at my mother's house and the full folder open between us.
"Walk me through the timeline again," Patricia said.
"From the beginning."
"The property transfer was fourteen months ago," I said.
"Daniel proposed it.
His attorney drafted it.
We both signed.
The deed was recorded."
"I have all of that." She made a note.
"The paternity challenge was filed when?"
"Six weeks ago, according to Marcus.
I received formal notice nine days ago."
"And the promissory note — the forged one — what's the date on it?"
"Four years and three months ago.
Three months before I registered the business."
Patricia wrote the date down.
"And Daniel confirmed to you, verbally, that his mother had the document prepared."
"Yes.
He said she had someone prepare it.
He used that exact phrase."
"And Marcus was present for the earlier part of the conversation.
The part where Daniel admitted he signed the paternity challenge."
"Yes."
Patricia set her pen down.
"Here is where we are.
The property challenge is weak.
The letter from Daniel's original attorney is strong, and the timeline supports you.
A judge will look at that letter and look at the challenge and see exactly what it is." She folded her hands.
"The paternity challenge is more uncomfortable, but it is also the most easily resolved.
A court-ordered test ends it.
Given that Noah is Daniel's biological son, the challenge collapses."
"And the forged document?"
Patricia looked at me steadily.
"That is not a family law matter.
That is a crjminal matter.
Forgery of a legal document used to file a civil claim is fraud.
Depending on how it was prepared and who prepared it, there may be additional charges."
"What do I do with it?"
"You don't do anything with it," she said.
"I do.
I have already contacted the court where the business claim was filed and flagged the document as potentially fraudulent.
I have requested a forensic review of the signature.
That process is already in motion."
I looked at her.
"You started that before I told you Daniel confirmed it?"
"I started it when you sent me the scan last week." She picked up her pen again.
"I told you to gather everything.
You did.
Now I use it."
"What happens to Evelyn?"
"If the forensic review confirms the signature is forged — and I believe it will — the filing gets thrown out, and the court refers the matter for investigation.
What happens after that depends on the investigator, the evidence, and whether Daniel cooperates."
"Will he cooperate?"
Patricia considered this.
"He told you the truth Saturday night.
That suggests he has reached a limit.
Whether he maintains that position when his mother applies pressure is another question." She paused.
"But we don't need him to cooperate.
We need him not to obstruct.
There's a difference."
I nodded.
"There is one more thing I want to raise," Patricia said.
"The financial transfers.
Twenty-two months of transfers from your joint account to Renata's account."
"Yes."
"That is marital asset dissipation.
It is relevant to the divorce settlement.
It is also potentially relevant to the fraud case if Renata had any knowledge of or involvement in the legal strategy." She looked at me carefully.
"Do you have any reason to believe she did?"
I thought about the timing.
The transfers had started two years ago.
The paternity challenge was filed six weeks ago.
Evelyn had found out about Renata eight months ago.
"I don't know," I said honestly.
"I don't know what Renata knew."
"All right.
We'll find out." Patricia closed her notebook.
"I want you to do nothing for the next two weeks.
No contact with Evelyn.
Minimal contact with Daniel — only about Noah's care, in writing, through text or email.
No conversations about the legal situation.
No confrontations."
"She thinks she's winning," I said.
"Good," Patricia said.
"Let her."
I drove home through the morning traffic with the folder on the passenger seat and Noah's car seat empty in the back.
Two weeks of silence.
I could do that.
May you like
What I did not know, as I turned onto my street, was that Evelyn was not going to give me two weeks.
She had already made her next move.
