Chapter 9: What Myles Did Next
He came to the apartment that evening.
I wasn't there.
Paul had suggested I stay elsewhere for a few days, and I'd gone to my sister Renee's house.
But my neighbor texted me at 7 p.m.: *There's a man outside your door.
He's been knocking for ten minutes.*
I didn't respond to that.
I called Paul.
"He's at my apartment."
"Don't go back tonight.
Is there anything critical inside you need?"
"My laptop.
But I have what matters with me."
"Leave it.
We'll arrange access through proper channels if needed." A pause.
"He's trying to assess what you know and how far you've gone.
He's not there to apologize."
I knew that.
I'd known it the moment my neighbor's text came through.
At 9 p.m., Myles sent a message: *I know you've spoken to a lawyer.
I need you to understand that what you're doing will hurt both of us.
I have documentation that shows those transfers were authorized by both parties.
I need you to call me.*
I forwarded it to Sasha without responding.
She replied within minutes: *Perfect.
Keep every message.
Do not respond.*
He sent three more that night.
Each one slightly different in tone.
The first was reasonable.
The second was wounded.
The third was a warning.
*You don't understand what you're getting into.
There are things about this situation you don't have the full picture on.
Call me before this goes further.
Please.*
I read that one twice.
Then I put my phone in my bag and sat with Renee at her kitchen table.
She poured two cups of tea without asking.
Set one in front of me.
Didn't say anything for a moment.
"How are you doing?" she finally asked.
"I keep thinking about the drive," I said.
"The night of the proposal.
He had me on speaker the whole time.
I was crying happy tears and telling him I could see the billboard and he was laughing." I wrapped both hands around the cup.
"He was already moving the money.
He had probably already started the transfers."
Renee was quiet.
"He planned the most romantic moment of my life," I said, "so that I would be too overwhelmed to check a bank account."
"Yes," she said.
Simply.
No attempt to soften it.
I was grateful for that.
"The worst part," I said, "is that I loved him.
I actually loved him.
And I don't know how much of what I loved was real."
"Some of it was real," Renee said.
"The man who made you laugh on bad days — that part of him existed.
It just wasn't the whole of him.
And the part that wasn't real was the part that mattered most."
I looked at my tea.
"He's going to fight this," I said.
"Yes."
"He's going to make it ugly."
"Probably."
"And I'm going to have to sit through all of it."
Renee reached across the table and put her hand over mine.
"You're not going to sit through it," she said.
"You're going to walk through it.
There's a difference."
The next morning, Sasha called at eight.
"He's retained counsel," she said.
"They've filed a counter-motion claiming the transfers were made with your verbal authorization and that the injunction constitutes unlawful interference with a private investment vehicle." A pause.
"It's a delay tactic.
It won't hold.
But it means we go to a hearing."
"When?"
"Ten days."
"And the forged documents from Vanessa's case?"
"Forensic document analysis has been commissioned.
Results in seven to ten days.
If the signatures are confirmed as forged, we refer to the DA's office simultaneously." Her voice was steady.
"He's fighting.
But he's fighting with the wrong cards."
I thought about what he'd said at my kitchen table.
*I need you to trust six years, not one conversation with a stranger.*
"Sasha," I said.
"He told me he had documentation showing I authorized the transfers."
"He does," she said.
"We've seen it.
It's a digital authorization form with your name and a checkbox."
My stomach dropped.
"I never signed anything like that."
"No," she said.
"You didn't.
The IP address on that form submission traces to a device registered to Myles.
He submitted it himself." A beat.
May you like
"That's not a defense.
That's evidence."
