Chapter 14 - An Unexpected Friendship
Reggie Foss called me eight months after the company's internal investigation concluded, his voice carrying a slightly hesitant, unfamiliar quality that made me curious before he'd said much of anything.
"I have an odd request," he said. "Feel free to say no. But we're launching a new division at the firm — a specialized litigation support unit, actually, given some of the complex fraud cases we've been handling since... well, since everything with Nathan. I immediately thought of you, given your background, and given how thoroughly you clearly understand exactly the kind of meticulous documentation this work requires."
I laughed, surprised. "You want to hire me? After everything?"
"Especially after everything," Reggie said. "Vivian, watching how you built your case over the past year — the documentation, the patience, the refusal to accept convenient narratives without verification — that's exactly the skill set this new division needs. I understand if it feels strange, given the history. But I think you'd be genuinely excellent at this, and I think, frankly, the firm owes you something, given how thoroughly Nathan's conduct implicated all of us."
I considered the offer carefully over the following weeks, eventually accepting a role that combined my litigation support background with the forensic documentation skills I'd sharpened, unexpectedly, throughout my own difficult year.
The work suited me in ways I hadn't fully anticipated — not just professionally satisfying, but genuinely meaningful, helping other people build the same kind of careful, verifiable cases that had ultimately protected both Lila and myself.
It was through this new role that I met Marcus Delgado, a family law attorney who occasionally partnered with our firm on complex custody cases requiring detailed financial forensics. Our working relationship began professionally, careful and measured, gradually warming over shared lunches discussing case strategy into something that felt, eventually, like genuine friendship.
"You have good instincts," he told me, during one particularly complex case we'd both spent weeks untangling. "You see patterns other people miss, because you're not afraid to actually look closely at inconvenient details."
"I've had good practice," I said, "learning to look closely at inconvenient details."
Marcus, divorced himself for nearly three years, understood without needing lengthy explanation exactly what that particular comment implied. "Would you want to get dinner sometime?" he asked eventually, his tone careful, unhurried, entirely without pressure. "Not work-related. Just dinner."
I considered it honestly, understanding how much had changed in the two years since the recital that had first cracked open everything I'd been quietly, carefully avoiding examining about my marriage.
"I'd like that," I said. "Though I should mention, I come with a fairly established co-parenting schedule, a daughter who takes her family tree assignments very seriously, and considerably less patience for convenient narratives than I used to have."
Marcus smiled, genuine and easy. "I think I can work with all of that," he said. "Especially the part about convenient narratives. I've spent enough years in family law to genuinely appreciate someone who insists on the actual truth, rather than whichever version happens to be easiest."
We began, slowly and carefully, building something new together — unhurried, honest, built on the kind of genuine mutual respect I'd spent twelve years of marriage gradually, painfully learning I'd never actually had with Nathan.
Lila met him eventually, months into our careful, unhurried dating, and approached the introduction with the same clear-eyed thoughtfulness she brought to everything else.
"Do you like him?" she asked me directly, after their first extended visit together.
"I do," I said honestly. "But sweetheart, this isn't a decision that's happening quickly, or without you. If you ever feel uncomfortable, or need more time, I want you to tell me. Your feelings matter in this, just as much as they mattered with your father and Brooke."
May you like
Lila considered this seriously. "I liked him," she said finally. "He asked me real questions about dance, not just pretend interested ones. And he didn't try too hard, like he was trying to win me over fast. I think I'd like to see him again."
I hugged her, understanding, with quiet gratitude, that my daughter had learned, throughout this difficult journey, exactly the kind of discernment I hoped would serve her well for the rest of her life — the ability to recognize genuine respect, genuine patience, genuine care, and to insist on nothing less.
