Chapter 9: The Calls
The calls took most of the morning.
My mother sat at the kitchen table with the guest list printed out and a cup of tea that I kept refreshing.
I sat across from her with my own phone.
We split the list.
She took family.
I took friends and the professional contacts.
Most people were kind.
A few were not.
One of my mother's cousins said, "I drove four hours for this," before hanging up.
A colleague of Daniel's said, "He seemed fine last week," in a tone that suggested this was somehow a failure of reporting.
A woman named Patricia, who had been my mother's friend since childhood, said nothing for a moment and then said, "Is he all right?"
"He will be," my mother said.
"And you?"
My mother looked at the list in her hand.
"Working on it."
Daniel arrived at ten-thirty.
He had slept badly — I could tell from his eyes — but he was steady.
He kissed our mother on the cheek, which surprised both of them.
She put her hand briefly on his arm and then let go.
He sat down and picked up a section of the list.
"I'll take the university friends," he said.
We worked through the afternoon.
Renee called Daniel's phone twice.
He looked at the screen both times and let it ring.
The third time, he answered.
I took my section of the list to the back garden to give him privacy.
I could see him through the kitchen window.
He sat at the table, head slightly bowed, listening more than speaking.
At one point he said something that lasted about thirty seconds.
Then he listened again for a long time.
Then he ended the call.
When I came back inside, he was staring at the list in his hand.
"She's leaving the city," he said.
"Going back to her family."
"How do you feel about that?"
"I don't know yet." He looked up.
"She said her father's claim is genuine.
That the letter exists and that it's specific." He paused.
"She also said she'd tried to talk him out of filing.
Twice."
I sat down.
"Did you believe her?"
"Yes," he said.
"I think that part was true."
My mother came back in from the hallway where she'd been finishing her last call.
She looked at Daniel.
He looked at her.
"The solicitor is coming at three," I said.
"We'll know more after that."
My mother sat down.
She placed her hands flat on the table.
"I need to say something," she said.
To Daniel.
He waited.
"I should have come to you," she said.
"When the letter arrived.
I should have sat down with both of you and told you the truth about what we were facing.
Instead I—" She stopped.
Started again.
"I decided I knew the solution.
And I moved forward without asking whether it was mine to decide."
Daniel was quiet for a moment.
"Were you ever going to tell me?" he said.
"I told myself I would.
After the wedding.
After things had settled."
"And if it had gone on for years?"
She didn't answer immediately.
"I'd like to believe I would have found the moment." She looked down at her hands.
"But I'm not sure I would have."
It was the most honest thing I had heard her say in years.
Daniel nodded slowly.
He didn't forgive her in that moment.
He didn't say everything was fine.
He just nodded, which was the right amount for a Tuesday morning after the longest night the three of us had shared in a very long time.
The solicitor arrived at three.
Her name was Helen Marsh.
She was in her sixties, efficient, with reading glasses on a beaded chain and a canvas bag that held more documents than should have been possible.
She spread them across the kitchen table without preamble and said, "Right.
Show me everything."
We showed her everything.
She read the copy of the 1987 letter, the bank statements, the printed text messages, the vendor receipts.
She asked twelve questions in rapid succession and listened to each answer without expression.
Then she took off her glasses and said, "The letter is real.
But it has significant problems."
My mother leaned forward.
"There was no independent witness," Helen said.
"The valuation referenced in the letter was never confirmed in writing.
And most importantly — your father made two documented payments to this man in 1991 and 1994, which your mother's accountant filed as loan repayments." She tapped the page.
"That documentation creates a strong argument that the original agreement was already treated as settled, at least partially, by both parties.
It doesn't guarantee a win.
But it gives us a very solid platform."
"Can he still file?" Daniel asked.
"He's already filed.
Informally, last week, as you said." She put her glasses back on.
"But informal filings are the beginning of a conversation, not the end of one.
We respond, we present this documentation, and we make the cost of continuing very clear to him." She paused.
"My estimate is that he settles quietly within sixty days."
My mother closed her eyes briefly.
"What's your fee," I said.
Helen named a number.
It was significant but not impossible.
"Fine," I said.
"I can cover half," Daniel said.
"Between the two of us," I said, "we manage it."
My mother looked at us both.
May you like
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
For once, she didn't argue.
