Chapter 8: The Injunction
The injunction was granted at 7:44 p.m.
Grace called me from the courthouse steps.
I was sitting in my car in the parking garage two blocks away, engine off, hands in my lap.
"It's done," she said.
"His accounts are frozen as of now.
The flight doesn't matter anymore."
"Will he run anyway?"
"Without money?
Unlikely.
And his passport has been flagged." A pause.
"Sandra, it's done."
I sat with that for a moment.
"What happens to David?"
"He cooperated fully.
His attorney will negotiate.
He'll likely face civil liability for his share of the underpayment, but criminal exposure is low given the cooperation." Grace's voice was careful.
"He wasn't the architect.
He was the distraction."
"He let himself be."
"Yes," Grace said.
"He did."
I thought about Chloe.
Sitting in my seat.
Laughing.
*His mother can watch from the back.* I wondered if she knew what Robert had built around her.
Whether she had been a piece of it or just another person who hadn't asked enough questions.
I decided it didn't matter tonight.
"Rachel," I said.
"What happens to her?"
"She'll be a material witness.
Her wrongful termination settlement will likely be revisited.
She may have a separate claim." Grace paused.
"She did the right thing, Sandra.
At considerable risk to herself."
"I want to thank her."
"You'll have the chance."
I started the car.
Michael was waiting at my house when I got home.
He was sitting on the front step with two cups of takeaway coffee, the same way he used to sit on that step as a teenager when he'd forgotten his key.
I sat down beside him.
He handed me a cup.
"Is it over?" he said.
"The worst part is."
He nodded.
We drank our coffee.
A cat from next door walked across the lawn and ignored us completely.
"Michael," I said.
"What you did today.
What you did at that podium."
"Mom—"
"Let me say it."
He went quiet.
"You didn't have to do any of that.
You could have accepted your diploma and come home and said nothing.
Nobody would have blamed you."
"I would have blamed me."
"I know." I looked at him.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you."
He put his arm around my shoulders.
We sat there until the coffee was gone and the street got dark and the neighbor's porch light came on.
My phone buzzed.
Robert Calloway.
I stared at the name on the screen.
I showed it to Michael.
May you like
"Answer it," he said quietly.
I did.
