Chapter 8: The Last Meeting
Marcus called back in six minutes.
"Do not meet him alone.
Do not meet him at all.
I'm forwarding that text to Detective Reyes right now — threatening to contact your clients to coerce you into dropping an investigation is witness tampering.
That text just made his situation significantly worse."
"He doesn't know that yet," I said.
"No.
He thinks he still has leverage." A pause.
"Ava, I want to ask you something.
Is there any part of you that wants to hear what he has to say?"
I thought about it honestly.
"No," I said.
"I already know what he'll say.
He'll tell me it was a misunderstanding.
He'll tell me he was going to pay it back.
He'll tell me the baby deserves two parents.
He'll tell me Corinne pushed him into it and he didn't know how to stop." I set my spoon down.
"He'll say whatever he thinks will work."
"That's correct," Marcus said.
"Don't give him the room to try."
But Weston didn't wait for a room.
At four-fifteen, he walked into the lobby of my agency.
My office manager, a steady woman named Bette who had worked with me for six years, called me from the front desk.
Her voice was carefully neutral in the way it only got when something required careful neutrality.
"Ava.
There's someone here asking to see you.
He says it's personal."
"Tell him I'm not available."
A brief pause.
Muffled voices.
"He says he'll wait."
"Bette.
Call building security and ask them to escort him out.
Then call me back."
I heard the shift in her breathing — surprise, then resolve.
"Done," she said.
I was on the phone with Marcus when Bette called back four minutes later.
"He's gone.
He said — " She paused.
"He said to tell you that you'll be sorry you made him do this the hard way."
I told Marcus.
"Good," Marcus said.
"That's the second threat in three hours.
Detective Reyes is already drafting the harassment application.
By tomorrow morning, he won't be able to come within a hundred meters of your office, your home, or your person."
"His mother?"
"Corinne is a separate matter.
The prepaid SIM registered in her name connects her directly to the account access.
Marcus and I discussed this with Reyes this morning — she's looking at conspiracy to commit fraud.
That conversation is happening with the DA's office today."
I stood at my office window.
Fourteen floors down, the street moved normally — people, cars, the ordinary machinery of a Tuesday afternoon.
"Marcus," I said.
"Sophie Drummond.
Claire in Boston.
How many people did they do this to?"
"We have three confirmed.
Reyes thinks there may be more who didn't come forward." A pause.
"Sophie said something when I spoke to her this morning.
She said Corinne was the one who approached her first.
Before Weston did.
She befriended her.
Made her feel like family."
I thought about the first time I met Corinne.
The warmth.
The way she'd touched my arm when she laughed.
The way she'd called me *exactly what this family needs.*
"She picks the targets," I said.
"That's what it looks like."
I sat down at my desk.
My hand went to my stomach without thinking.
"When does it end?" I asked.
Not a complaint — a genuine question about timeline.
"The restraining order, tomorrow.
The fraud charges — Reyes is pushing for an arrest warrant by end of week.
The civil case for recovery of funds, that's longer.
Months.
But the money in your operating account is frozen and protected.
The $30,786 from the joint account — we may recover most of it through the civil judgment."
"And the retainer payments?
The eighteen thousand?"
"Included in the civil claim.
With interest."
I looked at the framed photo on my desk — just me, taken the day I signed the lease on this office.
I was thirty-one.
I was grinning like someone who had just figured out she could build something that was entirely hers.
I had built it.
And it was still here.
"Okay," I said.
"Let's end it."
At five-fifty that evening, Detective Reyes called me directly.
"Ms.
Calloway.
The warrant for Weston Hale's arrest has been approved.
Financial fraud, wire fraud, forgery.
We'll execute it tomorrow morning."
I was in my car.
I didn't say anything for a moment.
"His mother?" I asked.
"Corinne Hale will be brought in for questioning tomorrow afternoon.
The DA is reviewing the conspiracy charge.
I expect she'll be formally charged by end of week."
"Thank you, Detective."
"Thank you," she said.
"You documented everything.
That made our job straightforward." A brief pause.
"Get some rest tonight."
I drove home.
Renata was still there — she had taken two days off work without being asked, which was the most Renata thing she had ever done.
She was on the couch with a book and a cup of tea and she looked up when I came in and read my face the way only she could.
"Tomorrow?" she said.
"Tomorrow," I said.
She nodded.
She moved her feet to make room on the couch.
I sat down beside her and she handed me her tea without asking if I wanted it.
I drank it.
It was the right temperature.
Outside, the street was quiet.
The new deadbolts were on the doors.
The accounts were frozen.
Marcus and Diane and Detective Reyes were doing what they did.
I put my hand on my stomach and felt the small, certain movement that had been my companion through all of it — through the living room and the wall and the driveway and the porch and the fourteen floors and the cold soup and all the phone calls.
"We're almost through," I said quietly.
May you like
Renata didn't ask who I was talking to.
She already knew.
