Chapter 5: The Moment He Thought He Could Still Win
Marcus's attorney arrived forty minutes later.
His name was Gerald Fitch — mid-fifties, silver hair, the kind of man who walked into rooms as if he had already won whatever argument was about to happen.
He shook Marcus's hand, nodded at the officers, and did not acknowledge me at all.
"My client has nothing further to say tonight," Gerald announced.
"Any additional questions will be directed through my office."
Reyes looked at him calmly.
"Mr.
Fitch, your client is not currently under arrest.
He's free to answer questions voluntarily.
We're simply gathering information."
"Then you'll gather it through proper channels." Gerald set his briefcase on the table — on top of my open folder, deliberately — and pulled out a legal pad.
"Marcus, don't say another word."
Marcus straightened in his chair.
The cornered look was gone.
Gerald's arrival had given it back to him — the posture, the certainty, the belief that the right attorney could make any problem disappear.
He looked at me across the table.
"You want to do this the hard way," he said quietly.
"Fine.
But you should know — Claire Holt's audit has problems.
I've already had it reviewed.
There are methodological errors that will make it inadmissible."
"By whom?" I asked.
"A forensic accountant I retained six weeks ago."
Six weeks ago.
Which meant he had known what I was building for at least that long and had said nothing.
Had sat across from me at this same table, eaten dinner, criticized my cooking, and said nothing.
"The camera footage," I said.
"What's the methodological error in that?"
Gerald glanced at the cabinet.
Then at Marcus.
Marcus said nothing.
"The footage is clear," I continued.
"Timestamp intact.
Unedited.
My attorney has a copy.
The original is on a remote server that neither of you has access to." I paused.
"That's not a methodological error.
That's a problem."
Gerald set down his pen.
"Where did you get the technical capability to—"
"My business partner." I folded my hands on the table.
"Daniel Cho.
He runs the IT infrastructure for the firm.
He helped me set up the system eight months ago.
He's also prepared a written statement about what he observed during a meeting with Marcus fourteen months ago — a meeting Marcus told me never happened."
The room shifted.
Marcus's head turned toward me slowly.
"What meeting?" Gerald said.
"The one where Marcus asked Daniel to falsify a client invoice so the discrepancy in the business account would look like a vendor error instead of a transfer." I slid a single page from beneath the open folder and placed it in front of Reyes.
"Daniel refused.
He documented the conversation the same day.
That statement has been with Claire Holt's office for five months."
Marcus stood up.
"That is a lie."
"Sit down, Mr.
Donovan," Reyes said.
"Daniel would never—"
"He already did," I said.
"He liked you, Marcus.
For a long time, he wanted to believe I was misreading the situation.
But when I showed him the transfer records, he stopped wanting to protect you."
Gerald put a hand on Marcus's arm.
Marcus shook it off.
"You went to my employees.
You went behind my back to people in our life and you built a case against me while we were still—"
"While we were still what?" My voice stayed even.
"Married?
While I was still cooking your dinner?
While I was still hiding what your hands had done?"
His mother stood up from her chair.
Everyone looked at her.
She picked up her handbag from the floor.
She looked at her son for a long moment — not with the cold confusion from earlier, but with something that had moved past confusion entirely.
"I want to go home," she said to no one in particular.
"Mom, sit down—"
"I said I want to go home, Marcus."
She walked to the front door.
The second officer stepped aside.
She opened it herself, and she left without looking back at either of us.
The door closed behind her.
Marcus stared at it.
Gerald cleared his throat.
"Officers, I think we've reached the natural end of this evening's conversation.
My client will make himself available through proper—"
"We'll need Mr.
Donovan to come to the station tomorrow morning," Reyes said.
"Nine o'clock.
Voluntarily, or with a formal request — his choice."
Gerald looked at Marcus.
Marcus looked at the closed front door.
"Nine o'clock," Gerald said flatly.
"We'll be there."
They left together.
The second officer followed them out to confirm they had gone.
Reyes stayed.
He closed his notebook and looked at me.
"Ms.
Donovan.
Is there anyone you can call tonight?
Someone who can be here with you?"
I thought about it for exactly one second.
May you like
"Yes," I said.
"There is."
