Chapter 9: Patricia Osei's Office
The lawyer's office was on the fourth floor of a building downtown, quiet and carpeted, with the kind of furniture that said *nothing dramatic happens here* while everything dramatic happened here.
Patricia Osei was smaller than I'd expected — compact, precise, with reading glasses pushed up on her head and a legal pad already half-covered in notes when we walked in.
She shook my hand like I was an adult, which I appreciated.
Gary spread the transaction history across the conference table.
My dad set the box beside it.
Patricia put on her glasses and read without speaking for four minutes.
"All right," she said.
"Tell me about the bathroom cabinet."
I told her.
All of it — finding the box, reading the label, seeing the words *wire transfer confirmation*, putting it back because I didn't know what it meant and was afraid of what would happen if I said something.
"You were right to be cautious," Patricia said.
"And you were right to tell your father when you did." She looked at my dad.
"The transfer confirmation is the strongest single piece of evidence you have.
It shows intent — she didn't accidentally move money, she deliberately wired it to a named individual.
That distinction matters."
"What are we looking at legally?" my dad said.
"Joint accounts complicate things — courts are sometimes reluctant to treat withdrawals from a joint account as theft even when the intent is clearly personal benefit to one party.
But the wire transfer is different.
That's not a household expense.
That's your money going directly to her ex-boyfriend.
A good argument can be made for civil fraud.
Possibly criminal, depending on the DA's appetite."
"She said it was a loan," my dad said.
"That he was going to repay it."
"Do you have any documentation of that agreement?"
"No."
"Does she?"
"I don't know."
Patricia wrote something on her pad.
"Here's what I recommend.
We send a formal demand letter this week — repayment of the full amount within thirty days, or we proceed with civil action.
That gives her the opportunity to respond before this becomes a legal proceeding." She looked at my dad over her glasses.
"It also gives you information.
How she responds will tell you a great deal about what she's willing to do and what she's trying to hide."
"And the marriage?" my dad said.
Patricia set down her pen.
"That's not my department.
But I'll say this — whatever you decide about the marriage, the financial matter stands on its own.
You can pursue recovery whether you stay together or not.
Don't let one decision hold the other hostage."
My dad nodded slowly.
"One more question," Patricia said.
She looked at me.
"You mentioned she accused you of taking the fifty dollars in front of your father.
Did she say anything that morning — before the receipt was found — that you remember clearly?
Specific words?"
I thought about it.
"She said since I was the only one home all morning, it had to be me.
And when my dad found the receipt, she said I could have written it myself."
Patricia wrote that down.
"Good.
If this goes further, that pattern of behavior — false accusation, deflection, blaming a minor — is relevant to character.
I want it documented."
She closed her legal pad.
"I'll draft the demand letter today," she said.
"You'll have it by tomorrow morning.
Read it carefully, and if you're comfortable with the language, I'll send it." She looked at my dad.
"David.
You handled last night correctly.
You preserved the evidence, you didn't confront her further, and you called me.
That matters."
My dad exhaled slowly.
On the way out, Gary held the elevator door for me.
"You okay?" he said.
"Yeah," I said.
"You did good," he said.
"Finding that box.
Saying something."
I looked at the elevator doors closing in front of us.
"I almost didn't," I said.
May you like
"But you did," Gary said.
"That's the part that counts."
