Chương 8
“They are asking me not to say what happened.”
“They are offering the primary relief you sought.”
“The house?”
“Yes.”
“What about the people who approved a face-free photograph, a copied license, a notary entry written by someone else, and an application from a dying woman who never spoke to them?”
“The settlement avoids years of litigation.”
“So?”
Franklin removed his glasses and cleaned them with a cloth.
“Years matter.”
She knew what he meant.
Neither of them mentioned recurrence. Neither mentioned that Elena’s future was measured differently now, in scans and intervals and percentages she had stopped searching online.
“You think I should take it because I might not have time,” she said.
“I think every client should price time honestly.”
“Would you take it?”
“I am not the client.”
“That is a very lawyer answer.”
“It is the only honest one.”
Elena stood and paced the narrow office.
She wanted the lien gone. She wanted to repaint the kitchen and replace the loose stair and stop opening mail with shaking hands. She wanted the lender to admit it had allowed two people to convert her anticipated death into paperwork.
Mostly, she wanted the months back. No settlement could offer that.
“What happens if I refuse?”
“We proceed to the evidentiary hearing. The lender may improve the offer. It may withdraw it. The judge may rule narrowly. We could win the lien issue and lose damages. We could spend another year arguing.”
“And Ruth Ann?”
“Her exposure increases if the record becomes public.”
“What about Warren?”
“The same.”
Elena looked through the window at the pharmacy sign across the street. One letter in the word PRESCRIPTIONS had burned out.
“Would a public ruling help someone else?”
Franklin considered before answering.
“It could pressure the lender to change verification practices. It could also disappear into a database no ordinary borrower reads.”
“That’s not very inspiring.”
“I’m not paid for inspiring.”
She sat again.
“Why did you take my case?”
“You paid the retainer.”
“You reduced it.”
“You noticed.”
“Franklin.”
He placed his glasses on the desk.
“Twenty-three years ago, I represented an elderly man whose nephew had transferred property using a questionable power of attorney. The family offered a settlement that kept the man housed. I advised him to take it.”
“Was that wrong?”
“No. It was the right advice.”
“But?”
“The nephew did it again to someone else.”
Elena waited.
Franklin looked at the dead plant beyond his office door.
“A good outcome for one client is not always a clean outcome. That does not mean the client owes the world a crusade.”
“So you’re telling me not to make your regret my responsibility.”
“Yes.”
“That is almost thoughtful.”
“Don’t spread it around.”
She took the agreement home.
For three nights, it remained on the uneven dining table.
Nora thought Elena should sign.
“You have the house back,” she said over the phone. “You keep your health, your money, your energy.”
“I don’t get to keep all three.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know.”
“Then stop making justice sound free.”
Elena bristled. “I’m not.”
“You are a little.”
They argued. Nora hung up. Elena called back ten minutes later, but Nora did not answer until morning.
Warren’s lawyer asked for a meeting.
Franklin resisted, then agreed on the condition that attorneys attend.
Warren arrived without his mother.
He looked thinner. His neatly combed hair had begun to gray near the ears. He sat across from Elena in Franklin’s conference room and placed both hands on the table where everyone could see them.
“I’m going to testify,” he said.
Franklin’s expression did not change. “Truthfully?”
Warren’s lawyer sighed.
“Yes,” Warren said. “Truthfully.”
“Why now?” Elena asked.
“My mother wants me to say you gave verbal permission.”
“Did I?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you say that six months ago?”
He looked at his hands.
“Because she said if I admitted what happened, she could lose her condo. She put some of the loan money into catching up her payments. She said the bank would come after everything.”
“Would it?”
Franklin asked, “Did your mother tell you that, or did a lawyer?”
“My mother.”
Franklin wrote something.
Warren continued. “She wants me to say I copied your signature without telling her.”
Elena felt a familiar pressure in her chest.
“Did you?”
“No. I found the file. She printed it. She practiced.”
His lawyer touched his arm.
Warren ignored her.
“She practiced on grocery lists,” he said. “She kept saying your E had too much space in it.”
Elena looked at him.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because she wants me to take all of it.”
“That bothers you now?”
His face tightened.
“I know what you think of me.”
“You do not know half of what I think of you.”
“I loved you.”
“You said that already.”
“I thought you were going to die, and I was angry at you for it.”
The room became very quiet.
Warren swallowed.
“I was angry every time you slept because I couldn’t. I was angry when people brought food and asked how you were and no one asked how I was. Then I hated myself for being angry, so I called my mother, and she told me it was normal. She told me I had to protect my future.”
Elena looked at Franklin. He watched Warren without judgment or sympathy.
Warren’s eyes remained on the table.
“When the doctor said the treatment might not work, I started imagining the house empty. I imagined the bills. I imagined Nora’s kids taking everything after five years because I knew you didn’t trust me.”
“You did not know the will.”
“I guessed.”
“You guessed correctly.”
He nodded as if confirmation hurt.
“My mother said the house should belong to me because I had stayed. She said your mother had never respected our marriage. She said borrowing against it was only using what would eventually be mine.”
May you like
“It was never going to be yours.”
“I know that now.”
