Chapter 9: The Last Conversation
Ryan's attorney requested a meeting two weeks before the trial date.
I went with my own attorney, a woman named Grace Okafor who wore reading glasses on a chain and had a reputation for being the calmest person in any room where someone was trying to take something from her client.
Ryan was brought in separately.
He looked like himself but reduced — the same face, the same posture, but with something removed from behind the eyes.
The confidence that had always read as warmth.
Gone.
He looked at me across the table.
"Emily."
"Ryan." I paused.
"Or would you prefer Daniel?"
His jaw moved.
"Ryan is fine."
His attorney, a man named Howell, opened a folder.
"My client would like to discuss a possible resolution that avoids a lengthy public trial.
In exchange for a guilty plea on the reduced charges, he is prepared to—"
"No," I said.
Howell looked up.
"Mrs.
Bennett, if you'll allow me to outline the terms—"
"I've read the terms.
Crawford forwarded them yesterday." I looked at Ryan.
"You want to plead to one count of fraudulent misrepresentation, serve eighteen months, and walk away from the bigamy charge and the wire fraud."
Ryan said nothing.
"Sandra's attorney has already declined.
I'm declining now."
Howell tried again.
"A public trial will expose details about your father's estate management that—"
"That have already been reviewed and cleared by two separate accounting firms." Grace's voice was pleasant and final.
"If that's the leverage, it isn't leverage."
Ryan leaned forward.
"Emily.
Think about Lily.
A trial means reporters.
It means her name in the papers.
It means—"
"It means she grows up knowing her mother didn't let someone who hjt her walk away with eighteen months and a clean record." My voice stayed even.
"That's what it means."
Ryan sat back.
"I did love you," he said.
"I need you to know that."
"You said that on the recording too."
He flinched.
"You love people the way someone loves a useful thing," I said.
"When it stops being useful, you find another one.
Sandra.
Me.
Vanessa.
The attorney you paid to falsify documents.
Everyone was a tool." I picked up my bag.
"I hope the next eleven years are more honest than the last eleven."
I stood up.
Ryan looked at me with something that might have been genuine feeling.
Or might have been one final performance.
I had stopped being able to tell the difference, and I had made my peace with that.
"Tell Lily—" he started.
"I'll tell her what she needs to know," I said.
"When she needs to know it.
That's my job now."
May you like
Grace held the door.
I walked out.
