Chapter 6: Monday Morning
I was at Marcus's office by seven fifteen.
He was already there, jacket on, the folder open on his desk.
He had his phone to his ear when I walked in and held up one finger without looking at me.
"I understand," he said into the phone.
"Then have him call me before eight-thirty.
Yes.
Thank you."
He set the phone down.
"Her attorney called twenty minutes ago," he said.
"He wants a conversation before any filing happens."
"That's good."
"It means she showed him the folder we sent last night and he told her the same thing I told you.
He's not going to walk her into a courtroom with Gerald Foss's statement waiting on the other side." Marcus straightened his jacket.
"But she hasn't agreed to anything yet.
This morning is still a negotiation."
At eight o'clock, the call came in on speaker.
Lorna's attorney — a man named Calloway — spoke first.
"My client maintains that her concerns about the child's welfare are genuine," Calloway said.
"However, in light of certain information that has come to our attention, she is prepared to discuss an alternative resolution."
"There is no alternative resolution," Marcus said.
"There is only one resolution.
Your client withdraws.
Completely.
In writing.
Today."
A pause.
"My client would need certain assurances—"
"Your client will receive no assurances.
Your client will receive a withdrawal agreement and the opportunity to sign it before ten o'clock this morning.
After ten o'clock, the documentation we have compiled goes to the district attorney's office, the state bar association's family law division, and Gerald Foss's attorney, who has already expressed interest in reopening the civil matter."
Another pause.
Longer.
"I'll need to speak with my client."
"You have until nine-thirty," Marcus said, and ended the call.
I looked at him across the desk.
"Will she sign?" I asked.
"Calloway will tell her to.
He doesn't want this case." Marcus leaned back.
"The question is whether she listens."
At nine-seventeen, Calloway called back.
"My client is prepared to withdraw," he said.
"She requests that the documentation you've compiled not be shared with any third parties."
"The documentation will not be shared provided the withdrawal is complete, signed, and filed before noon today," Marcus said.
"If your client contacts Daniel Mercer, his daughter, his household staff, or any member of his family after today, the agreement is void and everything goes forward."
A brief silence.
"Agreed."
Marcus looked at me.
I nodded.
"Send the withdrawal agreement to my office by ten-thirty," Marcus said.
"We'll countersign and file it together."
The call ended.
The office was quiet.
Outside the window, the street was filling up with the ordinary Monday morning movement of people who had no idea what had just happened in this room.
"It's over?" I asked.
"It's over when I have her signature in my hand," Marcus said.
"But yes.
It's over."
At eleven fifty-three, the signed withdrawal agreement arrived by courier.
Marcus signed the countersignature.
His assistant filed it electronically.
He handed me the confirmation receipt and said nothing for a moment.
Then: "Go get your daughter."
I drove to my mother's house.
Patricia opened the door before I reached it.
She looked at my face and her shoulders dropped slightly — the specific way they dropped when she had been holding tension she hadn't admitted to.
"It's done," I said.
She stepped aside and called down the hallway.
"Estelle.
Your father's here."
Estelle came running from the kitchen with flour on her hands and a smear of something on her chin.
She hit me at full speed and I caught her and held on.
"Are we okay?" she asked into my shoulder.
"We're okay," I said.
She pulled back and looked at my face the way children do when they are deciding whether to believe you.
Whatever she saw there was enough.
"Grandma let me make biscuits," she said.
"I can see that."
She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the kitchen.
Patricia touched my arm as I passed her.
Just once.
May you like
Just briefly.
It was enough.
