Chapter 6: What Patricia Found
Patricia Osei's office was on the fourteenth floor of a building downtown, and she was exactly the kind of woman who did not waste a single word.
Daniel had told me about the meeting by phone the following afternoon.
He put me on speaker while he sat in his car in the building's parking garage, still too wound up to drive.
"She asked me to lay out everything from the beginning," he said.
"The fall yesterday.
Christmas.
The patio.
The call to Gordon's office.
The custody threat." He paused.
"She listened to all of it without writing anything down.
Just listened.
And when I finished, she said, 'Your wife has been running a campaign.
She's been building a record.'"
"A record of what?"
"Of you being unstable.
Forgetful.
Unreliable.
Fragile." He said the words as though each one had a specific weight.
"Patricia said the custody threat wasn't random.
It's part of the same strategy.
If Rachel can establish that you're declining — mentally, physically — and that I'm distracted dealing with you, she builds a picture of an unstable household.
Then if I file for divorce, she files for primary custody and uses that picture as evidence."
I let that settle.
"She's been building this for how long?"
"Patricia's best estimate?
At least eighteen months.
Possibly longer."
Eighteen months.
Owen was ten.
Lily was twelve.
Two years ago, Lily had just started middle school.
I tried to trace back through every Sunday dinner, every holiday, every casual gathering where I had dismissed some small uncomfortable feeling as my own imagination.
"Patricia asked me to do something," Daniel said.
"She wants me to request the school records for the last two years.
Any notes from teachers, counselors.
Any reported behavioral changes in Lily or Owen."
"Why?"
"Because children under sustained household stress show patterns.
And if Rachel has been managing this that long, the children have been living inside it."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"She also wants to talk to Megan."
"Megan will talk to her," I said.
"She's been waiting for someone to ask."
"I know." A pause.
"There's one more thing.
Patricia asked whether Rachel had ever had access to your financial accounts.
Not just the house — the accounts."
"She doesn't have access.
She's not on anything."
"But she's been in your house.
Alone."
I thought of the key.
The dead plants.
The knee procedure two years ago.
"What would she be looking for?"
"Patricia didn't speculate.
She asked me to have you check something when you get home.
She wants you to look for any paperwork — statements, account letters, anything with your account numbers — that might be missing or out of place."
"You think she took something."
"I think we need to know if she did."
Outside my hospital window, the afternoon light was going flat and gray.
A nurse passed my door without looking in.
Somewhere down the corridor, a television was on.
"Daniel," I said.
"How are the children?"
A longer pause this time.
"Lily didn't eat much this morning.
Owen hasn't said much of anything since yesterday." His voice went quiet.
"Lily asked me last night if Grandma was going to be all right.
I said yes.
She said, 'I mean after everything, Dad.
Not just the hip.'"
Twelve years old.
She had seen more clearly than any of us, and she had said so out loud at the worst possible moment, knowing exactly what it would cost her at home.
"She's a brave girl," I said.
"She gets it from somewhere," Daniel said.
After we hung up, I lay still and thought about Rachel sitting across from me at seven years of Sunday dinners.
Smiling.
Helpful.
Perfectly, precisely helpful.
And I thought about Lily watching her mother whisper to Aunt Megan before I walked through the door.
*Watch this.
She needs to loosen up.*
Eighteen months of planning.
May you like
And yesterday was never meant to be the end of it.
It was meant to be the beginning.
