By Monday afternoon, Nathan’s lawyer had called her twice.
By Tuesday, he had called three more times.
Ruth relayed the calls to me in brief, factual summaries.
“They want to negotiate,” she said on Tuesday evening.
“The account transfers to Cassandra’s holding company have them concerned.
They’re also concerned about Mia.”
I had met with Mia on Monday.
She was twenty-four, quieter than I had expected, and she had brought a folder of her own — printed emails between her sister and their father, discussing the hospital foundation contribution in terms that were careful but not careful enough.
“She’s willing to provide a written statement,” I told Ruth.
“I know.
I spoke with her this afternoon.
She’s also willing to speak with the medical licensing board directly if it comes to that.”
“Does it need to come to that?”
“It may not,” Ruth said.
“Nathan’s lawyer understands what that would mean for his client’s career before it begins.
I think they’ll move.”
They moved on Wednesday.
Nathan’s lawyer sent a proposed settlement.
Ruth went through it line by line with me on a call that lasted two hours.
The initial offer was inadequate — it acknowledged the joint account withdrawals but valued them at less than half the documented total and made no provision for the years of tuition support.
“Reject it,” I said.
“Already drafted the response,” Ruth said.
The counter went back Thursday morning.
By Thursday afternoon, Nathan’s lawyer called again.
Ruth took the call and reported back.
“He wants a meeting,” she said.
“Nathan specifically.
He wants to meet with you directly, without lawyers.”
“No.”
“That’s what I told them.”
“Good.”
Friday brought a second proposal.
Better, but still short on the tuition contribution calculation.
Ruth and I went through it again.
“They’re getting closer,” she said.
“I think one more counter does it.”
“Then let’s send it.”
The final counter went out Friday at four o’clock.
I spent the weekend trying not to watch my phone.
I cleaned the apartment.
I returned calls I had been putting off.
