Chapter 5: Patricia Vance Doesn't Waste Words
Patricia Vance's office was on the fourth floor of a building downtown, small and precise, like the woman herself.
She was perhaps sixty, with short silver hair and reading glasses she wore pushed up on her head until she actually needed them.
She shook my hand once, firmly, and pointed to the chair across from hers.
"Gerald gave me the outline," she said.
"I want the details.
Start from when Harrison first got access to the account."
I told her everything.
The emergency account, the original purpose, the fourteen months of withdrawals.
I laid the bank statements on her desk in order.
She read each page without interrupting me.
When I finished, she pulled her glasses down and looked at the final total.
"He had signatory access," she said.
"That complicates the theft angle but doesn't eliminate it.
The account was designated for your emergencies.
You can establish that through the original account documentation and your husband's intent.
Gerald has that?"
"Yes."
"Good.
The question is whether Harrison knew the account's purpose when he started withdrawing." She looked up.
"Did he?"
"My husband told him when he set it up.
I was in the room."
"You were present for that conversation."
"Yes."
She wrote something down.
"That matters.
It establishes knowledge of purpose, which supports the argument that the withdrawals were not a misunderstanding but a deliberate misappropriation." She set her pen down.
"I want to be direct with you, Lorraine.
We can pursue this civilly — demand repayment, attach it to the eviction proceedings.
Or we can refer the financial matter to the district attorney's office and let them decide whether to pursue crjminal charges.
Those are not mutually exclusive."
"I want both options available."
"Then we move carefully.
I'll send a formal letter to Harrison's attorney today — cease all activity on the adverse possession claim, full accounting of all withdrawals, and a repayment demand.
We give them fourteen days to respond."
"And if they don't?"
"Then we file." She looked at me over her glasses.
"They will try to settle.
Sloan especially will not want this in court.
Public record."
"Why especially Sloan?"
Patricia paused.
"Gerald mentioned that the adverse possession claim was filed this morning.
I pulled it before you arrived." She turned her monitor slightly so I could see the screen.
"The claim is filed in Sloan's name only.
Not Harrison's."
I leaned forward.
"Harrison isn't on it?"
"No.
Which means one of two things.
Either he didn't know she filed it, or he knew and agreed to keep his name off it so he could maintain plausible deniability with you." She let that settle.
"Either way, there is a fracture there.
And fractures are useful."
I sat back.
"She filed it without telling him," I said.
Not a question.
A realization arriving in real time.
"That would be my read.
But we'll know more once we see how they respond to our letter."
I thought about Harrison on the phone two days ago.
*She knows.* The way he'd said it — not to me, but to her.
The way he'd sounded less like a man with a plan and more like a man being managed.
"Send the letter," I said.
Patricia nodded and reached for her phone.
I was almost at the door when she spoke again.
"One more thing." She didn't look up from her desk.
"Do you have a neighbor named Brenda?"
I turned.
"Yes.
My friend.
She baked my birthday cake."
"She called Gerald's office yesterday.
Said she filmed part of the barbecue on her phone.
May you like
The part near the table." Patricia finally looked up.
"She thought it might be useful."
