Chapter 4 - THE LAWYER
Grant came through the hospital doors carrying the diaper bag in one hand and a thick blue folder in the other.
He looked furious.
Not loud.
Grant rarely shouted.
But I knew my husband well enough to recognize the dangerous stillness in his face.
He kissed my forehead.
Then Clara’s.
Then he handed the folder to Ms. Patterson.
“Everything I found is in there.”
Diane saw him through the glass wall.
Her face changed.
For the first time that day, she looked afraid.
Inside the folder were printed emails.
Bank transfers.
Party invoices.
And one document bearing Grant’s name.
A complaint to child protective services.
Except Grant’s signature was wrong.
Very slightly.
The final “y” curved the opposite direction.
Grant noticed immediately.
“That isn’t mine.”
Ms. Patterson compared it with his driver’s license signature.
“I believe you.”
My hands started trembling.
Someone had impersonated my husband to build a case against me before Clara was born.
But why?
Grant opened another page.
“Look at the phone number.”
The complaint listed a contact number supposedly belonging to him.
It wasn’t Grant’s.
I recognized the last four digits.
Brielle.
My sister had apparently filed a report using my husband’s identity.
Security separated her from Diane.
Within minutes, Brielle’s confidence collapsed.
“I didn’t write it!”
Grant stepped toward the glass.
“Then why is your number on it?”
“Mom gave me the form!”
Everyone went silent.
Diane closed her eyes.
There it was.
Not proof yet.
But enough.
I looked at my mother.
“You tried to make the hospital think I was dangerous.”
Diane said nothing.
“For a birthday party?”
Still nothing.
Grant pulled another page from the folder.
“No. Not for the party.”
He showed me a transfer agreement involving Elliot Vance.
Forty-two thousand dollars.
The payment wasn’t for legal services.
It was labeled:
RETAINER - FAMILY PETITION.
I stared at the words.
“What family petition?”
Grant looked at my mother.
“I’d like her to explain.”
Diane finally spoke.
“Natalie was never supposed to see that.”
Something cold settled in my stomach.
“See what?”
She looked toward Clara.
And then I understood.
Not completely.
Enough.
“This isn’t about Brielle’s party.”
Diane’s silence confirmed it.
Grant opened the final document.
It was a draft court petition.
The name at the top was mine.
Underneath was Clara’s.
And beside “Petitioners” were two names:
DIANE MERCER.
May you like
BRIELLE MERCER.
My mother and sister were preparing to seek custody of my newborn daughter.
