Diane Marsh arrived at Patrick's office at nine the next morning wearing a grey coat and carrying a single slim briefcase.

She shook Patrick's hand.

She did not shake hers.

They sat across the table from each other for the first time without a doorstep between them.

Diane opened the briefcase and placed a single document on the table.

"This is the cooperation agreement," she said.

"I'll give you time to read it."

She pulled the document toward her.

Patrick leaned in beside her.

The terms were precise.

Full repayment of all transferred funds with interest calculated from the date of each transaction.

A signed statement of admission for the civil proceedings.

Withdrawal of any counterclaims.

In exchange, the referral to the financial crimes unit would be suspended, not dismissed — suspended, pending full compliance.

"Suspended," she said.

"Not dropped."

"Correct," Diane said.

"That means if I comply with every term, there's still a file sitting open somewhere with my name on it."

"For five years," Diane said.

"After five years of full compliance, the referral is formally withdrawn."

She set the document down.

"This is not a settlement.

This is a leash."

Diane looked at her without any change in expression.

"You're welcome to decline."

"And if I decline?"

"Then we proceed with the filing as it stands and you explain the third-party account to a judge."

Patrick put his hand briefly on the table near her arm — not touching, just near.

She understood what it meant.

"I need to ask you something," she said to Diane.

"Not legally.

Just between us."

Diane waited.

"How long did you know?

Before I filed for divorce.

How long had you been working on this?"

Diane considered the question.

"Long enough."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're going to get from me at this table." Diane folded her hands.

"But I'll tell you something else, and you can do with it what you like.

He didn't want to do this.

Any of it.

His mother pushed for the documentation.

His mother hired me.

He went along with it because she asked him to, and because he needed to protect himself.

But the night you filed, he sat in that office—" she glanced briefly at the window, "—and he asked me if there was any version of this where it didn't have to go this far."

She stared at Diane.

"I told him no," Diane said.

"Because by that point, there wasn't."

The room was quiet for a moment.

"He still asked," she said.

"He still asked," Diane confirmed.

Then she tapped the document on the table.

"You have until Friday."

After Diane left, Patrick poured two cups of coffee from the machine on the credenza.

He set one in front of her and sat down.

"Sign it," he said.

She wrapped both hands around the cup.

"She told me that on purpose," she said.

"That detail about him asking."

"Probably," Patrick said.

"Why?"

"Because Diane Marsh is a very good lawyer," he said.

"And very good lawyers know that people make better decisions when they're not entirely cornered." He paused.

"Also, I think she might have meant it."

She looked at the document.

"If I sign this," she said, "I lose everything I transferred.

The investment account.

The property.

All of it goes back."

"Yes."

"I'll have almost nothing."

"You'll have your freedom," Patrick said.

"Which, given where this was heading, is not a small thing."

She picked up the pen he had placed beside the document.

She held it for a long moment.

Then she set it back down.

"I want one thing first," she said.

"I want to speak to him.

Not through lawyers.

Not with Diane in the room.

Just him."

Patrick looked at her carefully.

"Why?"

"Because I need to say something," she said.

"And I need him to hear it from me."