I picked up the pen. Gerald’s smile widened. Daniel finally looked up, relieved. I clicked the pen twice — and slid the paper back, untouched. “Before I sign anything, Gerald, you should know I had dinner with Margaret Crane on Tuesday.” His smile froze. Margaret was the other name on the door — the senior partner he’d been quietly pushing toward retirement for two years. “She’s been wondering why three of her biggest clients suddenly transferred to your personal book last quarter. I had the billing records pulled. Turns out you’ve been rerouting her retainers through a shell entity in Delaware. She didn’t know. Until Tuesday.” Gerald’s wine glass stopped halfway to his mouth. “Margaret called an emergency partners’ meeting for tomorrow morning,” I continued, my voice steadier than it had been in months. “She’s invoking the ethics clause. The one you wrote, Gerald. The one that says any partner found diverting client funds forfeits equity and is removed from the masthead within forty-eight hours.” Daniel finally spoke. “Dad — what is she talking about?” Gerald didn’t answer him. He was looking at me like he’d never actually seen me before. “You can’t prove —” “I have the wire confirmations. Margaret has the client affidavits. And the state bar has a courtesy copy, sent this afternoon by my attorney.” I stood up slowly, one hand on my belly. “I’m not resigning, Gerald. I’m being promoted. Margaret offered me your equity share this morning. I accepted.” I picked up the resignation letter, folded it once, and set it gently beside his untouched plate. “A Whitfield wife doesn’t work,” I said. “Good thing I’m keeping my own name on the baby’s birth certificate.” Daniel followed me out to the car, stammering apologies into the cold air. I told him he could sleep at his father’s tonight — they’d have a lot to talk about. Six weeks later, my daughter was born. The nameplate on my new corner office read CRANE & ELLIS. Gerald’s old parking space had already been repainted.
