Chapter 7
Raymond was arrested three days later.
Not at an airport.
Not at a border.
At a luxury hotel in Palm Springs.
He had registered under another man's name.
The police found him because he used Victoria's stolen credit card to order a $300 bottle of champagne.
Even criminals could be undone by arrogance.
When Martin called me, I was in my workshop repairing a navy blazer.
For the first time since the wedding, my hands stopped shaking.
“They got him?”
“Yes.”
“Money?”
“Some.”
“How much?”
“About forty-one thousand in cash and accounts they froze.”
Not enough.
But something.
“And Logan's fifty?”
“Investigation ongoing.”
I put down my needle.
“What charges?”
“Fraud-related charges are being reviewed. Identity theft. Forgery. Theft. Attempted access to business records. More may follow.”
I exhaled slowly.
“What about Victoria?”
Martin became quiet.
“That depends on the district attorney.”
I had known this was coming.
“She cooperated.”
“That helps.”
“She gave them everything.”
“That also helps.”
“But?”
“She forged your signature, Glenn.”
I looked across the workshop.
The pieces of my ruined wedding suit still rested in a box.
I had not thrown them away.
Not because I wanted the reminder.
Because I wasn't ready to decide what they meant.
“Do I control whether she's charged?”
“No.”
I appreciated the simple answer.
Victims often imagined justice worked like a private switch.
Press charges.
Drop charges.
Real life was more complicated.
“You can express your views,” Martin continued. “But evidence is evidence.”
“I understand.”
That afternoon, Victoria moved out.
She had spent the previous nights with her sister.
Now she returned for clothes.
I stayed in the workshop while she packed.
Around four, she appeared in the doorway.
She looked older.
No makeup.
Hair tied back.
No expensive dress.
Just jeans and a gray sweater.
“Can I come in?”
“It's still your house legally until everything is settled.”
She flinched.
“I meant the workshop.”
I nodded.
She stepped inside.
Her eyes found the box containing my suit.
“I shouldn't have done that.”
“No.”
“I was cruel.”
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“I don't know why I hated this room so much.”
“I do.”
She looked at me.
“Because it reminded you where the money came from.”
Tears filled her eyes.
I continued sewing.
“You liked restaurants, vacations, tuition, jewelry.”
“Glenn.”
“But you hated the machines that paid for them.”
She sat slowly.
“I became ashamed.”
“Of me.”
“Yes.”
At least she didn't lie.
I placed the jacket aside.
“When?”
She thought for a long time.
“When Sabrina started dating Logan.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“His family made me feel small.”
“Did they say something?”
“No.”
That mattered.
“They were kind.”
She laughed sadly.
“That made it worse.”
I didn't understand.
Victoria wiped her cheek.
“They had generational money. Confidence. Connections. I started comparing everything.”
“Our house?”
“Yes.”
“My job?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
She nodded.
Then whispered:
“Especially you.”
I absorbed that quietly.
“Raymond noticed.”
“He always was good at noticing weaknesses.”
“He told me I deserved more.”
“No.”
She looked up.
“He told you what made stealing easier.”
Her eyes dropped.
“I know that now.”
We sat silently for a while.
Then she said:
“I loved you once.”
I believed her.
That was painful too.
“I know.”
“I think part of me still does.”
“That's not enough.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
I expected begging.
She didn't.
“I signed the preliminary divorce documents Martin sent.”
My hands stopped.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“No argument?”
“I've done enough arguing with reality.”
That was the most honest thing she had said in years.
She stood.
“I don't expect forgiveness.”
I looked at her.
“I don't know if I'll ever have it.”
“I understand.”
“But I hope you become someone who doesn't need mine to live honestly.”
She cried.
Then nodded.
Before leaving, she touched the box containing the destroyed suit.
“Are you going to fix it?”
“I don't know.”
“I hope you do.”
After she left, I stared at the fabric for a long time.
Sabrina arrived later.
She had moved into a small apartment near her work.
I had offered no money.
That surprised her.
But she accepted it.
She had also hired her own attorney using savings she earned herself.
That mattered more to me than she understood.
She entered carrying takeout.
“Chinese?”
I asked.
“You always eat badly when you're upset.”
“I've eaten badly since 1987.”
“That doesn't help your argument.”
I smiled despite myself.
It was the first normal exchange between us in days.
We ate at the cutting table.
Halfway through dinner, she pulled out an envelope.
“What is that?”
“Repayment.”
I opened it.
A cashier's check.
Six thousand dollars.
“I sold my designer bags.”
I looked at her.
“And the jewelry Raymond gave me.”
“How much did that get?”
“Less than I thought.”
A tiny smile crossed my face.
“Fake?”
“Most of it.”
That seemed appropriate.
“I owe you fourteen thousand more.”
“Sabrina.”
“No.”
Her voice became firm.
“I took money I knew I shouldn't have taken.”
“You thought your mother had authority.”
“I also didn't ask because I wanted it.”
That honesty mattered.
“I'll repay everything.”
“You don't need to punish yourself forever.”
“This isn't punishment.”
She met my eyes.
“It's responsibility.”
I put the check aside.
“Then I'll accept it.”
She exhaled.
“Thank you.”
“For taking your money?”
“For letting me fix something myself.”
That sentence stayed with me.
After dinner, she told me Logan had called.
“They're talking again?”
“Slowly.”
“What did he say?”
“He wants time.”
“He deserves it.”
“I know.”
She stared at her hands.
“I don't know if we'll ever marry.”
“Do you still love him?”
“Yes.”
“Then don't manipulate the outcome.”
She nodded.
“Show him who you are becoming.”
“What if it isn't enough?”
“Then become better anyway.”
Her eyes filled.
“Were you always this smart?”
“No.”
I smiled.
“I became wise around Tuesday.”
She laughed.
A real laugh.
Then the workshop phone rang.
It was Martin.
His tone was urgent.
“Glenn, Raymond is claiming you participated in the investment scheme.”
My smile disappeared.
“What?”
“He says Bayfront Pavilion was collateral.”
“That is insane.”
“I know.”
“He has no proof.”
Martin hesitated.
“He has a document with your signature.”
“Forged.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“We found something unusual.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“The document was notarized.”
I went cold.
“By whom?”
May you like
Martin answered.
“Your brother.”
