Chapter 6: Monday Morning
I arrived at my office at seven thirty.
Paul was already there, his briefcase open on the small table by the window, two coffee cups steaming beside a stack of documents.
He'd driven two hours the night before after I called him from the garden.
He hadn't complained once.
"Richard made four phone calls between eleven p.m.
and one a.m.," he said, sliding a printed call log across the table.
"Two to his attorney.
One to the managing partner at the firm that handles his development filings.
One to someone we haven't identified yet."
I picked up the log.
"How do you have this?"
"His attorney is Donald Marsh.
Donald Marsh's paralegal has been feeding me updates since Friday, because Donald Marsh has been billing Richard for work that was never done, and the paralegal didn't want to be standing next to him when that came out." Paul picked up his coffee.
"People find me when they need someone honest to give information to."
"What did Marsh advise?"
"Based on what the paralegal overheard — Richard wants to file amended documents showing Emily's name was added in error.
Clerical mistake.
He's going to try to have the originals superseded before business hours today."
I looked at the time.
Eight forty.
"Can he do it in time?"
"Not anymore," Paul said.
"I filed a formal notice with the county recorder's office at eight this morning.
The original transfer document is now flagged as the subject of a pending legal dispute.
No amendments can be recorded without judicial approval until the flag is cleared."
I set down the log.
"You did that this morning?"
"I did it Friday, actually.
As a precaution.
This morning I simply notified the relevant parties." He allowed himself a small smile.
"Richard's attorney found out approximately twenty minutes ago."
My phone buzzed on the table.
I turned it over.
Richard Whitmore.
I let it ring.
It stopped.
Then it rang again.
I picked up.
"Mr.
Miller." His voice was measured, but something underneath it was not.
"I think we need to meet."
"I agree," I said.
"My office.
Ten o'clock."
A pause.
"I'd prefer neutral ground."
"I'm sure you would," I said.
"Ten o'clock."
I ended the call.
Paul raised his eyebrows slightly.
"He'll come," I said.
At nine fifteen, Emily arrived.
She was alone.
She wore no makeup and her hair was pulled back simply.
She looked like she hadn't slept.
She sat down across from Paul and me and put both hands flat on the table.
"Chase told me this morning that his father is trying to fix a paperwork error," she said.
"He told me I shouldn't come here.
He said it would make things worse."
"Did he say how?" Paul asked.
"He said his father was a powerful man and that I should let the family handle it."
Paul wrote something on his notepad.
"Emily," I said.
"I need to ask you something directly.
Did you sign anything in the weeks before the wedding?
Anything Chase or Richard gave you?
Any form, any document, anything at all?"
She thought carefully.
"Chase asked me to sign a card once.
He said it was a birthday gift authorization for his mother.
I signed it."
Paul and I looked at each other.
"Do you remember what it said?"
"Not fully.
It had some printed text at the top.
It was one page.
Chase said it was just for the gift service."
Paul put down his pen.
"I'll need to trace that."
Emily looked between us.
"What was it really?"
"We don't know yet," I said.
"But we're going to find out."
Her jaw tightened.
She didn't cry.
She pressed her lips together and looked at the window for a moment.
"He told me to let the family handle it," she said again, quietly.
As though testing the words for something she hadn't noticed the first time.
At ten o'clock exactly, the lobby door opened.
Richard Whitmore walked in alone.
No attorney.
No Patricia.
He sat down across from us, straightened his jacket, and looked at me as though Paul and Emily were furniture.
"I'd like to speak to you privately," he said.
"No," I said.
He looked at Emily for the first time.
Something crossed his face — not guilt.
Recalculation.
"Emily.
I'm glad you're here, actually.
This will save time." He folded his hands.
"There was an error in the documentation.
My attorney is already correcting it.
Your name will be removed.
There's no need for any of this to become complicated."
Emily looked at him.
"When were you going to tell me it was there?"
"When it was relevant."
"It was relevant the moment you put it there."
Richard shifted in his chair.
"I was protecting the family's assets."
"With my name," she said.
"Without asking me."
"Emily—"
"I want to know what Chase signed." Her voice didn't waver.
"All of it.
Everything with my name or his name on it that I wasn't told about."
Richard went very still.
"That," he said carefully, "is a private matter between Chase and his family."
"I'm his family," she said.
"As of last night."
He looked at me.
And this time the recalculation was visible.
"Mr.
Miller." He leaned forward slightly.
"I think we both understand that this situation can be resolved quietly.
I'm prepared to discuss the loan structure.
I'm prepared to restructure Chase's liability entirely.
Remove Emily's name from every document.
Every one.
In exchange, we keep this inside the family." He paused.
"I understand you hold the note on my development loan.
I'm also prepared to negotiate terms.
Generous terms."
The room was quiet.
He had just offered me a bribe.
Paul's pen was still.
Emily's hands were flat on the table.
May you like
I looked at Richard Whitmore for a long moment.
"No," I said.
