“Graham paid Strauss to fabricate the evaluation that declared you unfit. And Strauss had already lost his medical license in 2022. The report was worthless. This is fraud upon the court. We’re filing a motion to vacate the 2023 custody order.”
Saturday afternoon, Seattle police arrested Graham at his apartment.
He was taken into custody for violating the protection order.
This time, the judge revoked his bail.
Graham Pierce would remain in King County Jail until trial.
When Patricia told me, I felt relief wash over me.
He couldn’t hurt us anymore.
That evening, Julian came to Patricia’s office.
I was there with Marcus, reviewing a presentation for a new client, a $1.2 million contract that could save Hayes and Morrison Architecture.
When Julian walked in, I stood, surprised.
“Julian, what are you doing here?”
He looked at Patricia.
“I’d like to speak with both of you.”
We sat in the conference room.
Julian pulled out a folder.
“Isabelle, I want to help you save your company. $500,000, no interest, repaid over five years. But I want to do this the right way, through Patricia and a trust fund, so there’s no question of impropriy during the custody case.”
I stared at him.
“Julian, I can’t.”
“You can,” he said firmly. “Sophie is my daughter. You’re her mother. I’m not giving you this money directly. I’m lending it to you through a legal structure that protects both of us.”
Patricia nodded.
“I can set up a trust fund, the Lawson Trust Fund. Julian transfers the money into the trust. I act as trustee and disperse funds to your company as needed. The loan agreement will list the benefactor as anonymous via Lawson Trust Fund. Your name and Julian’s name won’t appear together on any financial documents until after the case is closed.”
I looked at Julian.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re fighting for our daughter and because you deserve a chance to rebuild.”
I felt tears prick my eyes.
“I don’t want Sophie to think I’m using you.”
Julian smiled gently.
“You’re not. I’m helping my daughter’s mother through proper legal channels. Patricia will manage everything.”
By evening, the trust fund was established.
$500,000, enough to pay off Hayes and Morrison’s debts and fund operations for the next year.
Marcus called, ecstatic.
“Isabelle, we’re going to make it.”
But Saturday night, Patricia received an anonymous email.
The subject line read, “Evidence: Graham Pierce.”
Patricia opened the attachment.
It was a video file, dated 7 months ago.
The footage showed Graham sitting in a dimly lit bar with a man I didn’t recognize, broadshouldered, coldeyed, dressed in black.
Patricia turned up the volume.
The audio was faint, but clear enough.
Graham’s voice.
“I need this handled permanently.”
The man.
“You’re talking about a permanent solution.”
Graham.
“Yes, the Isabel problem. It needs to go away.”
The man.
“That’s not cheap.”
Graham.
“I don’t care what it costs.”
The video ended.
Patricia replayed it three times.
Then she looked at me, her face pale.
“Isabelle, this is conspiracy to commit murder. If this video is authentic, Graham Pierce was planning to have you killed.”
My hands shook.
“Who sent this?”
“I don’t know. The email is anonymous, routed through a VPN, but the metadata on the video file matches Graham’s known location 7 months ago. Frank can verify it, but if this is real, we need to turn it over to the FBI immediately.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Graham had tried to have me killed.
Patricia called FBI agent Nicole Hart.
Within an hour, Agent Hart was in Patricia’s office, reviewing the video.
“Mrs. Hayes, we will investigate this immediately. If the video is authentic, Graham Pierce will face additional federal charges: conspiracy to commit murder. That’s a class A felony, life in prison.”
“Who’s the man in the video?” I asked.
Agent Hart paused.
“We believe he’s Victor Kaine, a known fixer with connections to organized crime. We’ve been watching him for years, but we’ve never had enough evidence to make charges stick. If Graham hired him, this video could bring them both down.”
Sunday morning, I sat with Ruby and Sophie in their hospital room.
Sophie was on day five post-transplant, her white blood cell count climbing steadily, a sign the transplant was taking hold.
Doctor Whitman’s latest report was cautiously optimistic.
Ruby looked up from her book.
“Mom, is the hearing tomorrow?”
I nodded, smoothing her hair back gently.
“Yes, sweetheart. Tomorrow we go to court, and we show the judge all the evidence. Patricia says we have a very strong case.”
Ruby was quiet for a moment.
“Will we have to see Dad?”
