Chapter 9: The Day It Became Real
Simone was taken into custody on a Thursday morning, eleven days after the wedding.
Andre found out from Marcus, who called while Andre was in the parking lot of a grocery store, a bag of things he had bought for Loretta in his hand.
"It happened about an hour ago," Marcus said.
"Coordinated with Hargrove's legal team.
The prosecutor wanted them both formally charged before either attorney could negotiate a pre-indictment deal."
"What are the charges?"
"Financial elder fraud, forgery of a legal document, fraudulent notarization — that one falls to Hargrove primarily — and conspiracy to commit financial fraud." Marcus paused.
"With the three prior victims confirmed and two more under review, the prosecutor is pursuing this as a pattern offense.
That changes the sentencing range significantly."
"How significantly?"
"Hargrove is looking at a minimum of four years if he cooperates.
More if he doesn't." A beat.
"Simone's exposure is lower because her direct role is narrower on paper.
But the cooperation of one against the other tends to expand both cases very quickly."
Andre leaned against the car.
"They'll turn on each other," he said.
"They already have," Marcus said.
"Hargrove's attorney contacted the prosecutor's office this morning with an offer to provide a full account of Simone's involvement in exchange for a reduced charge." He paused.
"Simone's attorney contacted us an hour later requesting a private meeting."
"What does she want?"
"To see whether there is any civil resolution that would satisfy your family in exchange for your testimony being limited in scope." Marcus let the words settle.
"In simple terms: she wants to know if she can pay her way out of the criminal element."
Andre looked at the grocery bag in his hand.
Loretta's favorite crackers.
A small pot of raspberry jam.
Two lemons for tea.
"No," he said.
"I assumed as much," Marcus said.
"I'll communicate that clearly."
"Tell them whatever they want to negotiate, they should negotiate with the State Attorney.
We're not reducing anything."
"Understood." A pause.
"Andre.
This is going to play out over the next year or more.
There will be hearings.
There may be a trial.
There will be things that surface in the record that will be uncomfortable to read." Marcus's voice was measured.
"I want you prepared for that."
"I am," Andre said.
He drove to Loretta's house.
She was in the garden when he arrived — not working, just standing near the rosebush his father had planted along the back fence, the one she had kept alive for eleven years since his father passed.
She had her coffee in her hand and her face tilted slightly toward the morning sun.
Andre set the groceries on the porch step and walked around to her.
"It happened," he said.
She didn't turn.
She stayed looking at the roses.
They were not in bloom yet — it was too early in the season — but the canes were green and budded, coiled around the support she'd built for them the spring before.
"Both of them?" she asked.
"Both of them."
She took a sip of her coffee.
"Good."
He stood beside her.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
She considered it — really considered it, the way she always did when he asked her something she thought deserved an honest answer.
"I will be," she said.
"There's a difference."
He nodded.
"I keep thinking about your grandmother's ring," she said.
"Your great-grandmother wore it when her family had nothing.
She wore it on a farm with no electricity and three children and a husband who worked six days a week.
She wore it through things I can't even imagine." She paused.
"And this woman put it on her hand in a reception hall and smiled."
"It's home now," Andre said.
Loretta looked at the ring on her right hand.
The morning light moved across it.
"Your grandmother would have had something to say about all of this," she said.
"Something short and extremely pointed." A small sound that was almost a laugh.
"I wish I could have heard it."
They stood together in the garden for a while.
The coffee went cold in her cup.
Neither of them minded.
Later, in the kitchen, while Andre was putting away the groceries, Loretta sat at the table and picked up her book again.
She found her page and read without speaking.
He moved around the kitchen — the same cabinets, the same mugs, the same small sounds — and she did not need to watch him.
She knew where everything was.
She knew he did too.
That was what Simone had tried to reach into and take.
Not the money.
Not the documents.
Not even the ring.
This.
This ordinary kitchen.
This ordinary morning.
The ease of knowing that the right person is in the right room and nothing needs to be explained.
She hadn't managed it.
Andre set the raspberry jam on the shelf where it had always gone and closed the cabinet door.
Loretta turned a page.
Outside, the roses waited to bloom.
---
*Some people will spend years building trust — just to use it against the ones who love most deeply.
But love that is real is harder to st0al than they imagine.
It leaves evidence.*
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