Chapter 2 - The Weight of Fifty Unanswered Calls
The heavy steel cuffs clicked around David’s wrists with a sharp, mechanical finality that seemed to shatter whatever fragile reality he was clinging to.
“Get your hands off me!” David thrashed backward, his face twisting in rage as the two state troopers firmly gripped his arms, steering him toward the front door. “Do you know who I am?! My lawyers are going to sue the state of Illinois into the stone age! Maya! Are you just going to stand there and watch this happen?! Tell them to let me go!”
I didn't move. I didn't blink. I watched the man I had shared eight years of my life with—the man who had promised to stand by me in sickness and in health—being marched out of our front door like a common criminal.
Julianne was already weeping openly, clutching her designer shopping bag to her chest like a shield. “I’m leaving! I have nothing to do with this! I didn't know anything about embezzlement!”
“Ms. Rossi,” Marcus Vance said smoothly, not looking up from his notes as a third officer blocked her path toward the exit. “Federal investigators would love to have a word with you down at the federal plaza regarding those wire transfers from the Cayman accounts that paid for your luxury boutique shopping sprees over the last six months. Please follow the officer.”
Julianne’s eyes widened in sheer horror. She let out a muffled sob as she was escorted out behind David, her expensive heels clicking frantically against the concrete porch.
The heavy oak front door swung shut, clicking into place.
Silence descended upon the house once more—a heavy, suffocating silence that felt entirely different from the peace I had spent the last two weeks cultivating.
Marcus Vance closed his leather folder and tucked it under his arm. He turned to look at me, his expression softening just a fraction, revealing the deep lines of fatigue around his eyes.
“The freeze orders are complete, Maya,” Marcus said softly. “All accounts, personal and corporate, have been legally secured. The trial will move forward in three months. Given the volume of the financial paper trail we recovered from his office servers, he won’t see daylight for at least fifteen to twenty years.”
“Thank you, Marcus,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. “For everything. I know how difficult it was to fast-track the freeze orders while keeping it quiet until he returned.”
“It was the least I could do,” Marcus replied, stepping closer and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Not just as your attorney, but as someone who knew Lily. She was a bright, beautiful little girl. What he did… ignoring those calls while she was fighting for her life… there is a special place in hell for a man like that.”
At the mention of my daughter’s name, a sharp, familiar pain tore through my chest. I closed my eyes tightly, drawing in a shaky breath, forcing the agony down into the dark corners where I had kept it locked away since the cemetery.
“He still doesn't know,” I whispered.
Marcus frowned, his hand dropping from my shoulder. “He didn't look at his phone records? The subpoena logs show you called him fifty times from the pediatric ICU while Lily was flatlining.”
“He thought I was nagging him about chores or grocery shopping,” I said, a bitter, humorless smile touching the corners of my lips. “He texted me right before she passed away. He told me to stop suffocating him with my anxiety, that he was on a digital detox trip for his mental health, and not to contact him for two weeks. He blocked my number ten minutes later.”
Marcus shook his head slowly, a look of profound disgust washing over his face. “Monstrous. Absolute monsters walk among us.”
“Let him spend the next few days in a holding cell thinking about his money, his mistress, and his precious digital detox,” I said, opening my coat pocket and pulling out a single, folded piece of heavy cream cardstock. “Tomorrow, when the shock of the federal arrest wears off, and he demands to call his wife… hand him this.”
Marcus took the paper, glancing down at the heading. His eyebrows rose slightly as he read the embossed text.
May you like
“Divorce filing?” Marcus asked quietly.
“No,” I replied, my eyes locking onto the empty space where our family portrait used to hang. “It’s a notification of complete asset forfeiture, a permanent restraining order, and the official legal record of Lily’s death certificate. Let him read it in a concrete box with no champagne, no yacht, and no escape.”
