Chapter 9: The Courtroom He Chose
The district attorney's office moved faster than David's attorney had anticipated.
Constance told me this on a Monday morning, three weeks after the meeting with Melissa.
I was at my desk at the firm, working through a quarterly review, when she called.
"They executed the warrant this morning," she said.
"His attorney is already asking for a continuance."
"Did they get the server records?"
"All of it.
The shell vendor account, the false invoices, the transfer history.
Fourteen months of documentation." A pause.
"They also pulled his personal devices.
The texts to Melissa are now part of the criminal file."
I looked through the glass wall of my office at the open floor beyond — the analysts at their desks, the quiet industry of a company that had kept running through all of it.
"What are the charges?" I asked.
"Wire fraud.
Fraudulent misrepresentation.
Coercion." Constance paused.
"His attorney will argue for a plea.
The DA's office may accept one, depending on what cooperation looks like."
"That's their decision."
"Yes.
Rachel — there's one more thing.
The civil filing.
The divorce petition was formally served this morning, concurrent with the warrant."
I had known it was coming.
I had signed the papers myself ten days ago.
Still, hearing the word — *served* — made something settle in my chest.
Final and clean.
"How did he receive it?" I asked.
"His attorney accepted service on his behalf.
David was already at the DA's office for a voluntary interview his counsel had arranged." A beat.
"His attorney called me immediately after.
David wants to make a statement to you."
"Through counsel?"
"Through counsel."
"All right," I said.
"Send it."
It arrived by email forty minutes later.
Two paragraphs.
Constance had already read it; I could tell from the way she stayed on the line without speaking while I opened it.
The first paragraph was legal language.
Acknowledgment of the proceedings.
An expression of intent to cooperate.
The second paragraph was David.
*I know there is nothing I can say that changes what I did.
I am not writing this to ask for anything.
I am writing it because you deserve to hear from me directly that I understood, the moment you walked back into that room, that I had spent years being something I cannot explain or excuse.
I don't expect forgiveness.
I don't think I've earned the right to ask for it.
I just wanted you to know that I know.*
I read it twice.
Then I closed the email and set my phone face-down on the desk.
Constance waited.
"Rachel?"
"I'm here."
"Do you want to respond?"
"No," I said.
"I don't."
A pause.
"All right."
"Constance." I turned back to the quarterly review on my screen.
"Is there anything else that needs me today?"
"Nothing that can't wait."
"Then I'll talk to you tomorrow."
I ended the call.
The floor beyond my glass wall hummed with ordinary work.
Someone laughed at a desk near the window.
A phone rang and was answered.
The afternoon light came through at a low angle and made the whole room look warmer than it was.
I thought about David's two paragraphs.
The careful, lawyered first one and the real second one.
I thought about the gray jacket.
I thought about the backhand and the table and the room full of men staring at their shoes.
I thought about the cameras I had installed two years ago in a house I had always owned, waiting for a moment I had always known was coming.
And then I stopped thinking about it.
I picked up my pen and went back to the quarterly review.
Three weeks later, David accepted a plea agreement.
Wire fraud.
Fraudulent misrepresentation.
He would repay the full amount — three hundred and twelve thousand dollars — and serve eighteen months, with the possibility of early release contingent on continued cooperation.
His attorney called Constance.
Constance called me.
"It's done," she said.
I was in a meeting.
I stepped into the hallway to take the call, stood by the window at the end of the corridor, and looked out at the city below.
"Thank you," I said.
"Rachel." Her voice was warm, which was rare for Constance.
May you like
"It was my honor."
I went back into the meeting.
