Chapter 8: What Garrett Said Before They Took Him
He called me three days later.
I was in Grace's office in Baltimore when my phone lit up with a number I didn't recognize.
Grace saw my face and reached for her own phone to alert the DA's investigator.
I shook my head and answered.
"Rosalind."
His voice was different.
The warmth was g0ne — the warmth I had once thought was real, the warmth I had fallen asleep beside for three years.
What was left underneath it was flat and precise.
"Garrett," I said.
"I want you to know that I did love you," he said.
"At some point.
I want you to know that."
I looked out Grace's window at the harbor below.
A container ship was moving slowly toward the open water.
"I don't believe you," I said.
"I know." A pause.
"My father told me about your meeting."
"I thought he might."
"He said you were calm." Another pause.
"He respected that.
He doesn't respect many people."
"I'm not interested in your father's respect."
"No." His voice shifted slightly.
"I want to make a deal, Rosalind.
I want to cooperate with the investigation.
Full disclosure on my father's involvement in your parents' accident.
Every detail I know.
In exchange for a reduced charge on my end."
Grace was watching me.
She had heard.
She was already writing a note on her legal pad.
I read it: *Don't agree to anything.
Tell him to contact his attorney.*
"You need to speak to your attorney, Garrett," I said.
"My attorney is currently trying to save himself," Garrett said.
"Vess is cooperating too.
Everyone is cooperating.
My father built this thing so that everyone beneath him has just enough exposure to make cooperation rational." His voice was still flat.
Still precise.
"I'm telling you first because I thought you deserved that.
Whatever that's worth."
"It's worth very little," I said.
"I know."
"The poisoning, Garrett.
Three years.
Every night.
You handed me that glass and watched me drink it."
Silence.
"I told myself it was temporary," he said.
"That once the transfer was complete, I would stop.
That you would recover."
"You told yourself a story," I said.
"So you could sleep."
"Yes."
"And the river?"
Another silence.
Longer.
"That was my father's decision," he said.
"The timeline moved faster than I wanted.
He said the hearing wasn't enough.
He said you were too sharp, that you'd find a way to fight it, that we needed—" He stopped.
"I should have refused."
"Yes," I said.
"You should have."
"Rosalind—"
"Call your attorney, Garrett," I said.
"Or call the DA directly.
I don't care which.
But don't call me again."
I ended the call.
Grace set her pen down.
"He'll cooperate," she said.
"That's useful."
"I know," I said.
"How do you feel?"
I looked at the container ship.
It had cleared the inner harbor now.
It was moving into open water, getting smaller.
"Like I want to go home," I said.
"Is there still a home to go to?"
Grace almost smiled.
"The fraudulent transfer has been frozen pending the investigation.
The shipyard is legally yours.
The board was notified this morning." She paused.
"Your operations manager — a woman named Celia Drummond — has been holding things together.
She called my office yesterday.
She said, and I'm quoting directly, that she had suspected something was wrong for two years and was very glad you were not d*ad."
I laughed.
It came out strange — too sudden, too sharp.
But it was real.
"I'd like to call Celia," I said.
"I'll get you a secure line," Grace said.
Garrett was formally charged eleven days later.
Warren Hale was charged the following week on federal counts including crjminal conspiracy, financial fraud, and accessory to homicide for my parents' d*aths.
Conrad Vess entered a cooperation agreement.
Marcus Hale, who had spent fifteen years as the family's quiet intermediary, resigned from every board position he held on the same day his name appeared in the indictment.
Penelope called me once.
May you like
I let it ring.
She left no message.
