Chapter 5: Gerald Fitch and the Shape of the Trap
Gerald Fitch had a website that loaded in under a second, which told Nolan that someone paid to keep it at the top of search results.
The photograph showed a man in his mid-fifties with the particular confidence of someone who had won enough times to stop worrying about the cases he lost.
His specialty was listed as high-conflict family law and asset protection.
Asset protection.
Nolan sat in his car and read that phrase twice.
He went inside.
Dana was in the kitchen, making lunch, moving around the space with the easy familiarity of someone who had decided the morning's conversation had not happened.
She had music playing softly from the small speaker on the counter.
She smiled when he came in.
"I thought I'd make soup," she said.
"It's cold out."
"Sure."
"How was your errand?"
"Fine."
She stirred the pot.
"I've been thinking about what you said this morning.
I think we both got emotional and said things we didn't entirely mean.
I'd like us to talk about it calmly when we're both ready."
"I meant everything I said."
The stirring slowed slightly.
"Nolan."
"I'm going to pick up Lily from the Hartleys.
I'll be back in twenty minutes."
He was at the door when she spoke again.
"Gerald thinks I have a very strong case."
He stopped.
Turned around.
Dana set the spoon on the rest beside the stove and faced him.
The pleasant expression was still there, but something underneath it had shifted.
"He says that a spouse who makes accusations without evidence, removes a child from the home, and contacts an attorney within twenty-four hours of returning from a trip looks impulsive.
Unstable, even.
Especially when the child has no documented injuries and the accusing parent is absent for most of the month."
Nolan looked at her.
"You called him this morning."
"I called him last week, actually." She tilted her head slightly.
"I had a feeling you were getting ideas."
"Last week."
"You've been distant for months, Nolan.
Cutting trips short.
Calling home at odd hours.
I'm not naive."
He thought about Lily's voice.
*She said if I told you, you wouldn't believe me anyway.* He thought about how long it takes to teach a child that.
"What exactly do you want, Dana?"
"I want what's fair.
The house.
Primary custody.
Reasonable support." She said it the way someone reads from a list they have memorized.
"Gerald says if we handle this quietly, without courts and investigators and all of that ugliness, we can both walk away with our dignity."
"You want me to hand you my daughter and walk away quietly."
"I want us to be adults."
"She's seven years old." His voice stayed level.
"She begged you to stop.
I heard her."
"Children say all kinds of things." Dana picked up the spoon again.
"And recordings made without consent have complicated admissibility in this state.
Gerald mentioned that too."
The soup bubbled softly.
The music played.
"Think about it," Dana said.
"You have until the end of the week."
He picked up Lily from the Hartleys.
She had drawn a picture at their kitchen table — a house with two figures in front of it, a tall one and a small one.
She handed it to him in the car without saying anything.
He looked at it.
Two figures.
Not three.
"Who's this?" he asked, pointing to the tall one.
"You," she said.
"And this one?"
"Me."
He folded it carefully and put it in his jacket pocket.
At home, he went through every text message Dana had sent him in the past two years.
He found eleven references to Lily's behavior — *she's being impossible again, she threw another fit, I had to be very firm with her today, she needs to learn there are consequences.* He screenshotted all of them and sent them to Carol.
Carol replied within the hour.
*These are helpful.
Call Lily's pediatrician first thing tomorrow.
Also — find out who sent you that text about Fitch.*
He looked at the unknown number again.
He typed: *Who are you?*
The reply came back in under a minute.
*Someone who used to work for Dana.
May you like
I have things you need to see.
Can we meet?*
