Chapter 8: Patricia Wren
Patricia Wren's office was on the fourteenth floor of a building twelve blocks from the Oakmont.
Her waiting room had no magazines, just good chairs and a window that looked out over the city.
Her assistant offered me tea without asking what kind, and brought chamomile, which was exactly right.
Dana sat beside me.
She had stayed the night, sleeping in the guest room, making breakfast without being asked, not filling the silence with noise.
Patricia Wren came out to meet me herself rather than sending her assistant.
She was in her early fifties, direct in her movements, and she shook my hand with the kind of grip that meant she had been in difficult rooms before and was not worried about this one.
"Mrs.
Hale," she said.
"Come in."
"Nora," I said.
"Please."
"Nora." She gestured to the chair across from her desk.
"Tell me what happened."
I told her.
All of it.
She took notes on a yellow legal pad in handwriting I couldn't read from across the desk, and she asked questions at precise moments — not to interrupt, but to clarify.
When I finished, she set her pen down.
"The forged documents are the most significant issue legally," she said.
"The audit Eleanor Hale initiated will establish the scope of that.
What I want to focus on today is your position."
"Okay."
"You are currently still married to Marcus Hale.
You are seven months pregnant with his child.
Your name was targeted for removal from a family trust without your knowledge or consent, using documents that appear to carry forged signatures.
You were physically h*t by his companion in a public place, in front of witnesses, while visibly pregnant." She looked at me.
"You have a strong position, Nora.
I want you to understand that clearly."
"Marcus said he wants to fix things.
The trust, and possibly the marriage."
"What do you want?"
I had been waiting for someone to ask me that since yesterday.
"I want my daughter protected," I said.
"Whatever happens between Marcus and me — I want her name in that trust, I want her future secured, and I want it done in writing that he cannot undo without my knowledge."
"That's achievable," Patricia said.
"What else?"
"I want the divorce," I said.
"I don't want to fix the marriage.
I want out, and I want it done in a way that doesn't leave me dependent on his goodwill."
Patricia nodded.
"And the assault — Vivian Cross hjting you.
Do you want to pursue that?"
I thought about Vivian's face when Eleanor had named her on every document.
The way her smile had disappeared.
"Yes," I said.
"I do."
"Good." Patricia picked up her pen again.
"Here is what I recommend we do first."
She walked me through it methodically — the protective order she would seek to ensure no further trust amendments could be filed without court oversight, the documentation she needed from me, the medical record from the examination Eleanor had insisted I get the previous afternoon, the witness statements from hotel staff and guests who had been present in the lobby.
"Eleanor Hale's cooperation is significant," Patricia said.
"She has already taken steps that protect your position.
I'd like to speak with her directly, with your permission."
"She'll cooperate," I said.
"She gave me your name."
Patricia allowed herself a small smile.
"She called me before you arrived.
We've already spoken."
I looked at her.
"She called you last night?"
"She called me from the hotel lobby," Patricia said.
"Before she came inside."
I sat with that for a moment.
Eleanor, stepping out of her car with her leather folder, already knowing what she was walking into, already one step ahead.
Already making the call that would protect me before I even knew I needed protecting.
"She knew," I said.
"She knew what she was going to find."
"She suspected enough to prepare," Patricia said.
"There's a difference." A pause.
"She also told me to tell you something, if it came up naturally."
"What?"
"That she should have called you six months ago.
And that she won't make that mistake again."
Dana, sitting quietly beside me, reached over and took my hand.
I looked out the window at the city below.
Somewhere out there, Marcus was waking up to the first morning of a life that had not gone the way he planned.
Vivian was waking up to something considerably worse.
And I was sitting in a good chair on the fourteenth floor with my sister's hand in mine and an attorney who had been ready for me before I walked through the door.
May you like
"All right," I said.
"Let's start."
