Chapter 9: What Marcus Asked For
Ferris requested the meeting for the following Monday.
It took place in Diane's conference room — the same table where Gerald Webb had laid out the bank records six days earlier.
Ferris arrived with Marcus, which surprised me.
I had expected Marcus to stay away.
He sat across from me for the first time since the night he had walked out of the condo.
He looked like he had not slept well.
The expensive watch was gone.
The jacket was the same one he'd grabbed from the chair that night, and it looked like it had been worn several days running.
Ferris opened.
"My client is prepared to enter a guilty plea on two counts — wire fraud and filing a false financial disclosure.
In exchange, he's asking for a sentencing recommendation of eighteen months, time served to count, and a structured repayment plan for the documented losses."
Diane looked at me.
I gave her nothing.
"The forged documents," Diane said.
"Identity fraud.
Forgery.
Those aren't on your list."
"My client disputes the characterization of those documents—"
"The handwriting analysis came back this morning," Diane said.
"Your client's prints are on the folder.
His handwriting is on the power of attorney.
There is no characterization to dispute."
Ferris adjusted his watch — then seemed to remember it wasn't there.
He looked at Marcus.
Marcus leaned forward.
"Rachel." His voice was quiet.
Careful.
"I know I don't have any right to ask you for anything."
I waited.
"The eighteen months — I can do that.
I'll do that.
But if the forgery charges are added, the sentencing guidelines put me at six to eight years." He paused.
"I'm asking you to let Ferris work out a deal that doesn't include those."
"You were going to let me be charged in your place," I said.
"I know."
"You built a paper trail with my forged signature so that when this came apart, I would be the one sitting across from a detective."
"I know," he said again.
"And you're asking me to help you."
He looked at me for a long moment.
"I'm asking you to decide what kind of person you want to be when this is over," he said.
"That's all."
The room was very quiet.
It was such a Marcus thing to say.
Even now.
Even here, with the walls closing in, he was trying to find the angle that put me on the defensive.
I looked at him carefully — at the tired face, the worn jacket, the hands that were not quite steady on the table — and I felt something I had not expected to feel.
Not sympathy.
Not anger.
Just clarity.
"Diane," I said.
"Please tell Detective Reyes that we are not agreeing to any plea that excludes the forgery charges."
Ferris started to speak.
"We're done here," Diane said.
Marcus stood slowly.
He picked up his jacket.
He looked at me one more time, and I could see him searching for something — one more angle, one more line that might work.
He didn't find it.
"I hope you get everything you're looking for, Rachel," he said.
"I already have it," I said.
He left.
Ferris followed.
Diane closed the conference room door and sat back down across from me.
"You okay?"
"Yes," I said.
And I was.
Completely.
"Reyes thinks he'll take the full plea within the week," Diane said.
"His options are running out."
"Good."
She gathered her papers.
"One thing I want you to know," she said.
"The work you did — the four months of records, the recordings, the deed, all of it — that's what made this possible.
Not luck.
Not timing.
You."
I looked at the empty chairs across the table.
"I just stopped being afraid," I said.
May you like
Diane smiled — small, real.
"That's usually how it starts," she said.
