Chapter 9: The Last Thing He Did
Adrian was arrested on a Thursday.
I was still in the hospital when Diane called.
She stepped into the hallway to take it, then came back and sat in the chair Ruth had been using and told me what had happened in the careful, precise way she delivered all important information.
The financial crimes unit had executed the warrant at the firm's offices at eight in the morning.
They had taken the servers, the filing cabinets, and three boxes of documents from Adrian's private office.
His attorney had been present and had asked for a continuance on everything.
The request was noted and denied.
Adrian had been taken in for formal questioning at noon.
Petra had given her statement the day before.
Seven hundred pages of internal communications, printed and organized by date, delivered in four binders she had assembled at home over two years.
The investigator had called Diane afterward and said it was the most organized witness submission he had seen in fourteen years.
Gerald had given his statement the same morning, along with documentation of Adrian's bribery attempt.
Two of the other LPs had called Diane's office voluntarily after receiving her letters.
Three more had called Adrian's attorney to say they were withdrawing from any private arrangement.
The remaining two hadn't called anyone yet.
"It doesn't matter," Diane said.
"We don't need them."
"What happens now?" I said.
"He'll be formally charged within the week.
Fraud, breach of fiduciary duty, and witness tampering for the bribe attempt." She paused.
"His attorney will push for bail.
Given that he has assets — or had assets — they'll likely get it.
But the conditions will be strict."
"Can he come back to the house?"
"No.
I've already filed for an emergency protective order.
It was granted this morning." She set a document on the bed beside me.
"He cannot come within three hundred meters of you, the house, or the hospital."
I looked at the document.
"He'll fight the acquisition," I said.
"He'll try.
His attorney will argue duress, improper authorization, marital coercion.
All of it will fail.
The February agreement is clean.
The authorization was legal.
The timing is documented." Diane folded her hands.
"Mara, I want to be honest with you.
This will take time.
There will be hearings.
There will be filings and counter-filings.
It won't be over in a month."
"I know."
"But the trajectory is clear.
He has no remaining leverage.
Every move he's made since Saturday night has made his position worse."
I looked at the monitors.
The twins had been stable for two days.
Dr.
Yuen had said, that morning, that if they stayed stable through the weekend she would consider discharging me with strict home rest conditions.
"I want to go home," I said.
"You will," Diane said.
"I want to go home and I want it to actually be mine."
"It is yours," she said.
"It has been since eleven forty-seven on Saturday night."
She left at four.
Ruth came back at five with a bag from the Thai place near her flat and two pairs of clean socks for me because she had noticed, the day before, that the hospital socks had a hole.
We ate on the bed with the monitors beeping and the winter light going orange through the blinds.
"He called me," Ruth said.
I looked at her.
"This afternoon.
While I was out." She kept her eyes on her food.
"He said he wanted me to talk to you.
He said you were making a mistake that would affect the girls' future.
He said—" She stopped.
"He said some other things."
"What things?"
"Things I'm not going to repeat because they don't deserve to be repeated." She looked up.
"I told him I had nothing to say to him and that if he called me again I would forward the call recording to your attorney."
"Good."
"He said I was choosing sides."
"You are," I said.
"Yes," she said.
"I am."
She reached across and took one of my hands and held it the way she used to when we were children and one of us had a bad dream.
"It's going to be okay," she said.
"I know that's a useless thing to say."
"It's not useless," I said.
"The girls are going to be okay."
"Yes."
"And you're going to be okay."
I didn't answer immediately.
Outside, the light had gone from orange to a deep, fading blue.
"I think I am," I said.
"I think I actually am."
Three days later, Dr.
Yuen discharged me.
Ruth drove me home.
The house was quiet.
The study filing cabinet was sealed with an evidence sticker from the financial crimes unit.
The bedroom floor still had a faint mark where my phone had lain, screen cracked and glowing, on the night everything changed.
May you like
I stood in the doorway for a moment.
Then I went in, opened the curtains, and let the light in.
