Chapter 9: Monday Morning
Adrienne Cole's office was on the fourth floor of a building that smelled like old carpet and fluorescent light.
She was younger than I'd expected — early forties, dark blazer, a desk so organized it looked like a statement of intent.
She stood when Douglas and I came in and shook my hand with the grip of someone who did not waste time.
"Dr.
Abernathy.
Thank you for coming."
We sat.
She opened a folder — thicker than Douglas's, I noticed — and placed it on the desk without looking at it.
"I want to be direct with you," she said.
"We have been building a case around the Crestfield transaction for seven months.
Your civil filing gave us the financial records we needed to connect Brandon Foster directly to the transfers.
And the documents provided by Lauren Barrett last week —" She paused.
"They gave us the communications."
"The messages between Brandon and Lauren about the company," I said.
"Yes.
And between Brandon and Terrence Holt.
And between Brandon and a senior partner at Crestfield named Raymond Gould." She looked at me steadily.
"Mr.
Foster was not a peripheral figure in this.
He was the architect."
Douglas leaned forward slightly.
"What are you looking at in terms of charges?"
"Wire fraud.
Insider trading.
Structuring — that's the sub-ten-thousand transfers, which were deliberate and documented.
Possibly conspiracy, depending on how cooperative Mr.
Holt decides to be." She folded her hands.
"We expect to move toward a formal charging decision within thirty days."
The room was very quiet.
"What do you need from me?" I said.
"A deposition.
Your financial records from the joint account period, which we understand you've already compiled.
And your testimony, if this goes to trial, regarding the marriage finances and your understanding of the account activity."
"You'll have all of it."
She nodded.
"There's one more thing." She looked at Douglas briefly, then back at me.
"Brandon Foster's attorney contacted our office on Friday afternoon."
I looked at her.
"He indicated that his client was prepared to discuss cooperation with our investigation in exchange for consideration on the charges."
"He wants a deal," I said.
"He's exploring whether one is available.
I want you to know that any agreement we reach with Mr.
Foster will not affect your civil case.
Those are separate proceedings.
But I also want you to know —" She paused.
"We don't need his cooperation.
The documents are sufficient.
I told his attorney that."
"What did Crane say?"
"He said he'd be in touch." She almost smiled.
"He hasn't been."
We were in the elevator going down when Douglas spoke.
"She's not going to deal," he said.
"No."
"Which means Brandon knows it too, by now."
The elevator opened.
We walked through the lobby and out into the gray morning air.
"He's going to do something," I said.
"Before the thirty days are up."
"Yes."
"What do we do?"
"We make sure there's nothing left for him to do." Douglas stopped on the sidewalk.
"The deposition is scheduled for Wednesday.
After that, everything you have is on record.
He can't reach it."
I nodded.
My phone rang as we reached the car.
The name on the screen was Brandon Foster.
I looked at it.
Douglas looked at it.
I answered.
"Brandon."
"We need to talk." His voice was different.
Flat.
The performance entirely gone.
"We're talking."
"Not like this.
In person.
Just the two of us."
"That's not going to happen."
"Gwen." A pause.
"I know about Lauren.
I know she gave them the folder."
"Then you know where things stand."
"I know where things stand if you let this keep going." His voice tightened.
"I'm asking you to stop it.
Call off the civil case.
Tell your attorney to withdraw.
I'll pay back everything — all of it, not just what I offered — and we walk away."
I looked at Douglas.
He was watching me.
"Brandon," I said.
"You stood in a hospital hallway and told strangers I wasn't a real woman.
You moved my money into a shell company while my best friend held my hand and told me I deserved better.
You emailed my mother." I paused.
"And now you're asking me to call it off."
Silence.
"This is going to hurt you too," he said.
"The deposition.
Everything coming out.
Your medical history.
The fertility treatments.
All of it in a public record."
"I've been a doctor for twenty years," I said.
"I've sat with people in the worst moments of their lives and I've never once looked away.
I'm not going to look away from this either."
"Gwen —"
"Don't call me again without going through Douglas."
I ended the call.
My hands were steady.
They had been steady for twenty years.
They were steady now.
Douglas opened the car door.
"Wednesday," he said.
"We finish this Wednesday."
I got in the car.
But as Douglas pulled out of the parking space, my phone buzzed one more time.
A text.
From Brandon's number.
Four words.
*You'll regret this.
Both.*
I showed it to Douglas without a word.
He read it.
His jaw tightened.
"Screenshot it," he said.
"Right now."
May you like
I did.
Then I forwarded it to Adrienne Cole.
