Chapter 4: Sandra Okafor Takes the Case
Sandra Okafor's office was on the fourteenth floor of a building downtown, and her waiting room had no magazines, no soft music, and no decorative plants.
Just clean chairs and a receptionist who looked at me like she had seen a thousand men walk through that door carrying the same expression I was wearing.
"Mr.
Hartwell," she said.
"Ms.
Okafor will be right with you."
Sandra came out herself three minutes later.
She was in her early fifties, compact, with reading glasses pushed up on her head and a yellow legal pad already in her hand.
"Come in," she said.
"Tell me everything.
Don't edit."
I told her everything.
I showed her the camera footage on my laptop.
I showed her the quit-claim deed, the voicemails, the text from Diane, and the timestamped photographs I had taken of the kitchen the night before.
I told her about Lily's injuries and the pediatric emergency report.
I told her about Noah's diaper and the empty bottle and the spilled milk on the floor.
Sandra did not interrupt once.
She wrote on the legal pad in a fast, tight script and only looked up when I finished.
"How long have you worked for the attorney general's office?" she asked.
"Nine years," I said.
"Digital evidence and forensic data recovery."
"And the camera system.
The recordings are encrypted, server-backed, with full chain of custody intact?"
"Yes."
She set her pen down.
"Mr.
Hartwell, I want to be direct with you.
What you have is not a divorce case.
What you have is a criminal neglect case, a fraud case, and a divorce case, in that order.
The quit-claim deed was executed while the property was jointly held.
Depending on how Valebridge Properties is structured, we may be looking at fraudulent transfer.
That's a separate matter from family court entirely."
"I understand," I said.
"The children's welfare is the lever that moves everything else.
The pediatric report documenting Lily's injuries — that becomes the foundation.
Everything else builds on top of it." She picked her pen back up.
"I'm going to need you to not contact Claire or Diane about any legal matter from this point forward.
All communication goes through me."
"Agreed."
"One more thing." She looked at me directly.
"Marcus Vale.
Do you know what his role is beyond the affair?"
"He's Claire's direct supervisor at Alderman Financial.
He registered Valebridge Properties eight days before Claire signed the deed.
His name isn't on the company registration — I checked — but the registered agent address is the same building as Alderman Financial's satellite office on Wacker."
Sandra's pen stopped moving.
She looked at me over the top of her glasses.
"You checked the registered agent address this morning?"
"At 6:15 a.m.," I said.
"Yes."
She almost smiled.
"Good.
Don't do any more of that without telling me first.
I don't want anything you find to be challenged on procedural grounds." She tapped the legal pad.
"I'll file for emergency temporary custody this afternoon.
Given the pediatric documentation and the camera evidence, I expect it to be granted by end of day."
My phone buzzed on the table between us.
We both looked at it.
Claire.
Calling.
I turned the phone face-down.
"She's been calling since 1 a.m.," I said.
"Let her," Sandra said.
"Every unanswered call is a documented attempt at contact that I can use to establish your reasonable behavior and her escalating pressure.
Don't answer.
Don't text.
Don't engage." She stood and extended her hand.
"Go home to your children, Mr.
Hartwell.
I'll call you when the filing is confirmed."
I shook her hand and stood to leave.
At the door I turned back.
"The envelope Diane picked up from my kitchen counter," I said.
"It was on camera.
She said Claire had already signed it.
I don't know what else was in it besides the deed."
Sandra wrote something on the pad.
"I'll subpoena Diane's personal records as part of the fraud filing," she said.
"If there's a second document, we'll find it."
I nodded and walked out into the hallway.
The elevator doors opened immediately.
I stepped in, and as they closed, my phone buzzed again.
Not Claire this time.
The 312 number.
The one I hadn't recognized last night.
I let it ring.
But I wrote the number down on the back of Sandra's business card before I put my phone away.
Someone had called me from that number at 3 a.m.
and left no message.
And in my experience, people who called at 3 a.m.
May you like
and left no message were either afraid of something or warning someone.
I needed to know which one.
