Chapter 8: Patricia Hale's Office
Patricia Hale's office was on the fourteenth floor of a building downtown, with a window that looked out over the mountains.
She was in her early fifties, with reading glasses she wore pushed up on her head and a habit of writing in the margins of documents in green ink.
She read through the folder while I sat across from her.
She didn't rush.
She turned each page carefully, made two notes, and set it down.
"The joint account transfers are the most significant piece," she said.
"That changes the nature of the claim substantially."
"How substantially?"
"It moves this from a disclosure dispute into potential financial misconduct within the marriage.
Depending on what the full account records show, we may be looking at a meaningful portion of marital assets that were redirected without your knowledge or consent."
I looked at the mountains through the window.
"He said it was guilt money," I said.
"It may have started that way." Patricia took off her glasses and set them on the desk.
"But guilt money paid from a joint account is still your money.
You had a legal interest in those funds."
"What happens next?"
"I file today.
We request the full account records through discovery.
We also request records for the LLC — any revenue, any expenses, any distributions." She paused.
"The text messages from Renee and Ava are useful as context.
They establish that there was coordination happening last night.
That matters if Daniel tries to argue this was all innocent and informal."
"He's going to say it was for Ava."
"He can say that.
But if joint funds were used, the argument becomes much harder to sustain." She leaned forward slightly.
"I want to ask you something directly.
Is there any part of you that wants to try to save this marriage?"
I thought about it honestly.
"No," I said.
"I think I stopped trying to save it a long time ago.
I just didn't know what I was saving it from."
Patricia nodded.
"Then let's protect you."
She filed at 11:30 that morning.
Daniel's phone must have rung within the hour, because he called me at 12:47.
I let it go to voicemail.
His message was forty seconds long.
His voice was tight and controlled, the way it got when he was trying very hard not to raise it.
*I know you filed.
I want you to know that I'm not going to fight you on this.
But I need you to understand that whatever happens between us, Ava is not a bargaining chip.
She's a child.
Whatever you're angry about, leave her out of it.*
I listened to it twice.
Then I called Patricia.
"He left a voicemail," I said.
"He told me Ava is not a bargaining chip."
"Did you initiate any contact with Ava?"
"No.
She texted me.
I didn't respond."
"Good.
Save the voicemail.
Send it to me." A pause.
"He's starting to manage the narrative.
That's expected.
It means he's worried."
"He should be worried about Ava," I said.
"She texted a woman she's spent three years treating like an enemy to beg her to stay.
That's not a child who's fine."
"No," Patricia said.
"It isn't."
I looked out my car window at the street below the parking garage.
"Can we make sure she gets some support through this?
Whatever happens with Daniel, she didn't choose any of it."
Patricia was quiet for a moment.
"That's a generous thing to say."
May you like
"She's sixteen," I said.
"And she's been carrying something she never should have been handed."
