Page 94 of No Greater Love
Harrison's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes. The calculation of a man who'd just realized this wasn't going to be a profitable client.
"I understand that family law can be expensive," he said, already reaching for his calendar. "You might want to consider attorneys who work on a sliding scale basis."
Translation:Get the fuck out of my office, you can't afford me.
We left with a brochure for legal aid and a crushing sense of defeat.
The second office, in a strip mall between a nail salon and a tax preparation service, was more promising. The lawyer, Janet Wexler, seemed competent and genuinely sympathetic. Her fee was reasonable—only five thousand up front.
"The problem," she explained apologetically, "is timing. Your hearing is in six days. I'd need at least two weeks to properly prepare a defense for a case this serious. Primary custody modifications require extensive documentation, witness preparation, expert testimonies..."
She trailed off, seeing the desperation on Nate's face.
"I could try to get a continuance," she offered, "but given that you've already had the initial meeting with the child, the judge might not grant one. And if I'm not prepared..."
We thanked her and left. Nate was quiet on the drive to the third office, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
By the fifth law office, a pattern was emerging that made my stomach drop.
"I'm sorry," the receptionist at Morrison & Associates said, not looking sorry at all. "Mr. Morrison isn't taking new clients in family law matters at this time."
"We haven't even explained the case yet," I said.
"He specifically asked me to tell you that he's had a consultation regarding this matter and would be conflicted out."
The words hit like ice water. "A consultation? With whom?"
"I'm not at liberty to say."
Outside, Nate leaned against the car, running his hands through his hair. "What does 'conflicted out' mean?"
My mind was racing, pieces clicking together in a way that made me feel sick. "It means they've already talked to Sarah. Or her lawyer. Which means they can't represent you."
"But we never?—"
"No, Nate. We never talked to them. But she did." I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the list of family attorneys I'd researched. "How many have we called?"
"Seven or eight?"
"And how many have been available and affordable?"
The silence stretched between us as the implications sank in.
I started making calls right there in the parking lot, working through the list with growing horror. One after another, the responses were variations on the same theme:
"Already consulted on this matter."
"Conflict of interest."
"Not taking new family law clients."
By the tenth call, my hands were shaking.
"Nate," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "She's done this on purpose."
He looked up from where he'd been staring at the pavement. "What?"
"Sarah. Or her lawyer. They've consulted with every decent family attorney in the city. They're not actually seeking their services. They're just having initial consultations to create conflicts of interest."
