Chapter 8: What He Said When He Had Nothing Left
The meeting Patricia had refused became a formal proceeding three days later.
Daniel's new attorney — Garrett had withdrawn from the case on Wednesday, citing a conflict of interest that he declined to specify — was a quieter man named Sorel who wore no tie and took notes by hand.
He sat beside Daniel in a conference room at the attorney general's office, and across the table sat Patricia, Reyes, and a second investigator whose name I never caught.
I was not in the room.
Patricia had advised against it.
I sat in a waiting area down the hall with a paper cup of coffee and a view of a parking structure.
Ruth had offered to come.
I'd told her to stay with Noah.
The meeting lasted an hour and forty minutes.
Patricia came out first.
She walked toward me with the specific expression I had learned to read over the past months — not quite a smile, but something settled.
Something resolved.
"He accepted the terms," she said.
I set down the coffee.
"All of them?"
"All of them.
Full repayment of the outstanding settlement debt, including penalties.
The two commercial properties in Noah's name are to be transferred out of the LLC and liquidated, with the proceeds placed in a court-supervised account for Noah's benefit until he turns eighteen.
The passport matter will be handled separately by federal authorities — that's outside our agreement, but it's proceeding." She sat down beside me.
"He also agreed to a formal acknowledgment, in writing, that the loan was never a gift.
That it was always a debt."
I looked at the parking structure for a moment.
"Did he say anything?" I asked.
"When he signed?"
Patricia was quiet for a beat.
"He said it wasn't supposed to go this far."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing.
I signed my name and thanked the room."
I nodded slowly.
"There's one more thing," Patricia said.
"He asked, through Sorel, whether you would be open to a conversation.
Not legal.
Personal.
He said there was something he wanted to say to you directly."
I looked at her.
"Did Sorel say what it was about?"
"Noah," she said.
The word landed in the room between us and sat there.
"When?" I said.
"Whenever you're ready.
Or never.
That's entirely your decision."
I thought about Noah at the kitchen counter, telling me about the hidden door in his book.
*I think it's going to be okay.* I thought about him never once asking why his father never came, and whether that was peace or whether it was a wound he hadn't learned to name yet.
"Not yet," I said.
"Maybe not ever.
But I'll think about it."
Patricia nodded.
"That's the right answer."
We walked out of the building into a gray afternoon.
The parking structure was ugly and ordinary and I was glad to see it.
"What happens to the restaurant?" I asked.
"The assets will be auctioned.
Whatever clears the debt comes to you first under the settlement terms.
If there's a surplus, it goes to other creditors." She pulled her coat closed.
"The building lease runs out in four months.
The landlord is already fielding inquiries."
Eight years of my life had lived in that building.
My recipes were still on the laminated cards in the kitchen.
My mother's money was in the mortar of it somewhere, invisible and unreturnable.
May you like
"Good," I said.
And I meant it.
