Marcus fell silent.

Christine’s thoughts raced. “Do you think they’ll settle?”

“I would, if I were them.” Gary paused. “But, but, but. Here’s the caveat. There’s a possibility that they won’t, depending on what their insurance company tells them or their parent company. If they don’t agree, then we file our papers, just like before. We haven’t lost anything.” Gary slid his computer keyboard in front of him and hit a few keys. “But let me back up a minute. Christine, I need to get the facts about what you learned from Jeffcoat. Tell me what he told you.”

Christine filled Gary in, telling him that Jeffcoat had applied but hadn’t gone to medical school, about the religious parents, even the death of his baby sister. Gary typed as she spoke, and Christine could feel Marcus listening hard, realizing that he hadn’t gotten any of the details last night. She had a vain hope that hearing the full story might soften him up, which might have been a pipe dream. She also told them how Zachary told her his exact donor number. She didn’t say anything about going to Gail Robinbrecht’s house because it didn’t seem relevant to the fact that Zachary was their donor—and she didn’t want Marcus to hit the ceiling. Also she remembered not to call Zachary by his first name.

“So, that’s it?” Gary looked up expectantly, his small, slim fingers poised over his keyboard.

“Basically, yes.”

Marcus sipped the last of his coffee but didn’t say anything, replacing his cup in the saucer with a loud clink.

Gary started typing again. “Christine, do you know if Jeffcoat is represented? I like to know who my opposition is.”

“Yes, he had a public defender but I think he might be getting a private lawyer.” Christine realized that Zachary would be meeting with Griff right now, at the exact same time that she and Marcus were meeting with Gary.

Gary kept typing. “How do you know that, did he tell you?”

“I think he’s going to hire a local lawyer named Francis Griffith, from West Chester.”

“Good to know.” Gary typed away. “Griffith’s a criminal lawyer, right?”

“Yes,” Christine answered, aware that Marcus was weighing her every word. Suddenly her phone rang in her purse. “Sorry, I should have turned it off.”

“No worries, I’m no phone Nazi.” Gary typed away.

Christine reached down and slid her phone from the outside pocket, seeing that the screen read GRIFF. She pressed the red button to decline the call, but Marcus saw the screen, too.

“Wait,” he snapped. “Isn’t that the name you just said? Griff? Is that a nickname for Griffith? Jeffcoat’s lawyer?”

“Yes.” Christine slipped the phone back in her purse, kicking herself for putting Griff in her contacts list.

“Why is he calling you? How does he have your number?”

“I helped Jeffcoat get him,” Christine answered because there was no reason to lie.

“What do you mean? How did you help?”

“He had a public defender and he wanted somebody local, so I helped.”

Gary stopped typing, listening to them both, his head of glossy black hair swiveling back and forth, shiny under the lights.

Marcus frowned, confused. “You didn’t know any local lawyers, did you?”

“I made a few phone calls, it wasn’t that difficult,” Christine answered, without elaborating.

Marcus’s lips parted. “Why would you help him?”

“Because he said he’d tell me anything I wanted to know if I helped him, and I wanted to know if he was our donor, so I helped him.” Christine glanced at Gary, who sat listening, his hands still.

Marcus’s eyes flared. “He’s a serial killer, he manipulated you, don’t you see that?”

“No, he didn’t,” Christine answered, trying to reason with him.

Gary put up a hand. “Marcus, let me handle this. We need to keep it on a legal track.”

“Why? I can talk to my own wife.”

Gary turned to her. “Christine, did Jeffcoat ask you to help him get a lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ask you anything else?”

“Yes.” Christine hesitated, but whatever, it was too late now. “He asked me to pay half the retainer, which is $5,000.”

“What?” Marcus shifted toward Christine in his chair. “How could you even think of helping him?”

“I didn’t.”

“But did you consider it? How could you?”

“How could you not?” Christine thought it was time to stand up for herself. “Let’s assume that he’s innocent and behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit. That means our donor could spend the rest of his life in prison, wrongly accused. Am I just supposed to turn my back on him?”

“Yes,” Marcus answered instantly.

“Yes,” Gary added, a second later. Both men exchanged glances, then Gary turned to her. “Christine, let me explain the legal reason you can’t help him. You’re about to sue Homestead because of their negligence in using Jeffcoat as a donor. Even if Jeffcoat isn’t technically a party to this litigation, his interest is adverse to yours. He’s on their side.”

Marcus interjected, “That’s what I tried to tell her.”

Gary kept speaking to Christine. “I understand why you went to see him, and you got good information. But my legal advice to you is, this far, and no further. Capisce? Understand me?”

“I understand you.”

“Good.” Gary leaned over the keyboard, newly urgent. “Now for my non-legal advice, Christine. I’ve been in more prisons than you. I’ve known more inmates than you. I’ve known more con artists, bullshit artists, and every other artist there is. Everybody in prison says they’re innocent.”

Marcus interjected again, “Exactly.”

Gary ignored him, his dark eyes trained on Christine. “Even my uncle and my nephew, when they went before the parole board, they said they were innocent. Take it from me, they weren’t. Now, a guy like Jeffcoat, he’s in a heap of trouble. He will grasp at any straw and he can manipulate, deceive, and use you to get what he wants.”

“He asked for $2,500 for a lawyer. It’s not like he asked for the moon.”