Chapter 9: What He Said at the End
Derek called three more times that week.
I didn't answer.
His attorney sent a formal communication through Reyes asking whether I would be willing to submit a written statement supporting a reduced charge in exchange for a structured repayment plan to the defrauded clients.
I forwarded it to Reyes and said nothing.
On a Thursday morning, eleven days after I had walked out of the Edgewater apartment with boxes, Reyes called me.
"He's been formally charged," she said.
"Insurance fraud, breach of fiduciary duty, and financial exploitation.
Three counts.
His attorney entered a not-guilty plea this morning, but the evidence is — Skylar, the records are very clean.
They go back seven years.
Two employers."
"Seven years," I said.
"He started before he met you.
You weren't the beginning of this.
You were just the most recent layer."
I was standing in the small room at the shelter, looking at the strip of sky through the window.
The same strip of sky I had looked at every morning for eleven days.
"What's the likely outcome?" I said.
"I can't predict outcomes.
But his attorney is already in informal discussions about a plea.
If he cooperates fully, names any additional parties who may have facilitated the transfers, and agrees to full restitution — the sentence would likely include license revocation, financial penalties, and a period of supervised release.
If he doesn't cooperate—" A pause.
"It goes to trial.
And the records are very clean."
"What about the clients?
The people whose money he took?"
"The restitution process is being structured.
It will take time, but the accounts are traceable.
Most of them will be made whole."
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"And Marisol?
The property?"
"The property has been separated from the fraud proceedings.
The trust is being restructured to remove the holding company.
The house will transfer cleanly to Ms.
Fuentes." A pause.
"It was the right outcome.
She and Camille had no part in this."
"Good," I said.
"That's good."
Reyes was quiet for a moment.
"There's one more thing.
Derek asked, through his attorney, whether you would be willing to speak with him.
Once.
Before any plea is entered."
I looked at the strip of sky.
"Where?" I said.
"Wherever you choose.
His attorney's office.
A neutral location.
Or not at all — that is completely your right."
"I'll meet him," I said.
"Once."
We met in a conference room at Reyes's office, which felt right.
Neutral ground, but not his ground.
Derek came in with his attorney — a man named Garrett who had the careful face of someone paid to look calm.
Derek sat across from me.
He looked like himself, mostly.
The suit was still pressed.
But something in his face had changed.
The insurance salesman warmth was gone.
What was left underneath was smaller and more tired.
"Thank you for coming," he said.
"Say what you need to say," I said.
He glanced at Garrett, who gave a small nod.
"I want to apologize," Derek said.
"For the coffee.
For everything.
For the way I treated you." He paused.
"And I want you to know — you were never part of it.
The money, the accounts.
You didn't benefit from any of it.
I kept it completely separate because I didn't want—" He stopped.
"I didn't want you involved."
"You didn't want me to find out," I said.
A pause.
"Both."
"And the coffee?
Was that keeping me separate too?"
His jaw tightened.
"No.
That was me losing control.
That was wrong.
I know it was wrong."
"You told me I made you do it."
He looked at the table.
"I know."
"You didn't move," I said.
"I was at the sink, and you didn't move."
He didn't answer.
"I need you to understand something," I said.
"I'm not here to give you anything.
I'm not here to soften anything.
I came because I wanted to look at you once, clearly, and say this: I spent four years making myself smaller so you would feel bigger.
I said nothing for fourteen months because I was afraid of what the truth would do to my life.
And the morning you threw that coffee at me, I finally understood that my silence was not protecting me.
It was protecting you."
Derek's hands were flat on the table.
He didn't pick them up.
"I'm not angry anymore," I said.
"I'm not sad.
I just want you to know — I saw you.
Finally, clearly.
And what I saw was not worth fourteen months of silence."
I stood up.
Garrett started to say something.
I looked at him and he stopped.
Derek looked up at me.
For just a moment, the tired face underneath the pressed suit looked like it wanted to say something real.
Something without an attorney present.
Something that wasn't a strategy.
"I'm sorry, Skylar," he said.
"I know it doesn't—"
"I know," I said.
"Goodbye, Derek."
I walked out of the conference room.
Down the hallway.
Through the glass doors into the Miami afternoon.
Reyes was waiting near the elevator.
She fell into step beside me without speaking.
We reached the street.
She stopped.
"You all right?" she said.
May you like
"Yes," I said.
And I was surprised to find I meant it.
