Chapter 9: The Last Thing He Said
Patricia filed the amended complaint on a Tuesday.
The new figure — nine hundred and forty-seven thousand dollars moved across three years through seven separate transactions — changed the shape of everything.
What had begun as a civil fraud case now carried potential criminal referral.
Patricia had been in contact with the state attorney's office for four days before she told me.
She wanted to be certain before she raised it.
"They're interested," she said.
"Particularly in the forged notarization and the involvement of Hartwell and Associates.
Colin Marsh has already retained his own attorney, separate from his uncle."
"Gerald Marsh?"
"Gerald Marsh is no longer practicing.
He submitted his resignation to the bar association yesterday." She let that settle.
"Mark's new attorneys have been informed of the criminal referral.
They called us this morning.
Mark wants to negotiate."
"What kind of negotiation?"
"Full civil settlement.
Return of all transferred funds plus interest.
Restoration of your full share of Crestview Developments.
The house transferred to your name.
And a signed agreement that he will not contest the divorce." A pause.
"In exchange, you agree not to cooperate further with the criminal referral."
I was quiet for a moment.
"And Ofelia?
Meridian Holdings?"
"Meridian will be dissolved.
The funds returned.
Ofelia is not named in the criminal referral — yet.
That would be part of the negotiation."
"What do you recommend?"
Patricia was quiet for a moment.
"Honestly?
The settlement gives you everything back, plus damages, faster than a criminal trial would.
Criminal cases take years.
They're painful.
And the outcome is never guaranteed." She paused.
"But that's a values question, not just a legal one.
Some clients want the money.
Some want the accountability.
Most want both, and they have to choose."
I thought about my father's life savings.
I thought about the two-room office in Columbus.
I thought about scrubbing floors because we couldn't afford a cleaning crew, and about Mark sitting at the kitchen island with his scotch, telling me I had misunderstood the documents.
"I want everything back," I said.
"And I want it in writing, signed, before I agree to anything about the referral."
"That's what I expected you to say." I could hear her writing.
"I'll go back to them with that position."
The meeting happened nine days later, in Patricia's conference room.
Mark came with two attorneys from the Cincinnati firm.
He looked like he hadn't slept in a week.
He sat across the table from me and Patricia, and he kept his eyes on the documents in front of him rather than on my face.
His lead attorney, a tall woman named Renata Voss, spoke for the first twenty minutes.
She outlined the settlement terms.
Patricia responded to each point.
I sat and listened and said nothing.
Then Renata Voss said, "Mr.
Crestview would like to make a brief personal statement before we finalize."
Patricia looked at me.
I nodded.
Mark looked up for the first time.
He looked at me directly.
His face was older than I remembered, or perhaps I was simply seeing it differently.
"Laura," he said.
"I know there's nothing I can say that changes what I did.
I'm not going to try to explain it.
I just—" He stopped.
Pressed his lips together.
"I want you to know that the company — what you built — I never stopped knowing that it was yours.
Even when I was trying to take it." He paused.
"That's the worst part of it.
I knew."
The room was very quiet.
I looked at him for a long moment.
Twenty-eight years.
The two-room office.
My father's savings.
Every floor I had scrubbed.
"I know you knew," I said.
"That's why we're here."
He nodded once.
He looked back down at the documents.
The settlement was signed that afternoon.
Every transferred amount returned with interest.
My full fifty percent of Crestview Developments restored.
The house transferred to my name.
The divorce uncontested.
Ofelia called me once, two weeks later.
I let it ring.
May you like
She left no message.
I didn't need one.
