Patricia met her near the elevators. She had a leather briefcase in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, and she looked as though she had spent the previous night doing exactly the kind of work that would permit her to speak calmly in a difficult meeting. "You don't have to perform confidence for anybody today," she told Sarah. "You only have to listen, ask questions when you need to, and tell me if something doesn't make sense." Sarah nodded and followed her into the conference room.
Darius Voss did not attend. Two lawyers represented his company, and one of them opened by explaining that his client wished to resolve a commercially unfortunate misunderstanding without further public expense. Patricia listened until he finished, then asked whether he would agree that the document at issue was not a verified personal guarantee signed by Sarah Malone. The lawyer looked at his notes and offered a sentence about disputed authenticity. Patricia said that was not an answer.
The discussion lasted most of the morning. There were arguments about the origin of the account, the wording of documents, the legal effect of the recorded claim, and the money collected after Sarah challenged the signature. Sarah sat quietly beside Patricia and made notes when she heard something that sounded important. She understood less than she wanted to, but more than she would have six months earlier, and each time a lawyer used a phrase she did not understand, she asked what it meant.
At one point Voss's representatives proposed that their client withdraw the court action if Sarah agreed to accept an adjustment of the disputed balance and release any further claims. Patricia set down her pen. "You are still describing this as if she owes a reduced amount," she said. "Produce the genuine agreement she signed, or stop asking her to pay something you cannot establish."
Sarah had heard arguments like that on television, delivered by actors with perfect hair and dramatic pauses. In the conference room, the words were quieter. Patricia did not raise her voice, and the other lawyers did not slam their papers onto the table. The exchange mattered because she was asking them to choose between proof and a story they had repeated for months.
During a break, Sarah walked to the corridor window and watched people crossing the street below. She thought about the last time Darius had stood inside the diner and told her he was finished waiting. He had acted as though time itself belonged to him, as though the only meaningful question was whether she could produce the number on his paperwork before midnight. Now she understood that a deadline spoken by a man in a suit was not the same thing as a lawful order.
Patricia joined her by the window. "How are you holding up?" she asked. Sarah considered the question seriously. "I'm scared they'll find another way," she admitted. Patricia nodded and said that fear was reasonable, but that the point of the work they had done was to reduce the space in which unsupported claims could keep changing shape.
"And if they won't settle?" Sarah asked. "Then we keep building the case," Patricia replied. "I won't tell you that litigation is painless. But I can tell you the record is stronger today than when you walked into my office, and I won't recommend an agreement that asks you to call a lie the truth."