Chapter 7: The Arrest
Marsh called me at seven in the morning four days later.
"We're executing the warrant this morning," he said.
"I wanted you to hear it from me directly."
I was already dressed.
I had been awake since five.
"Is James—"
"He's safe.
He's been moved to a secure location as a precaution.
You'll be able to reach him today.
I'll send you a number as soon as we're clear."
"All right."
"Mrs.
Calloway — thank you.
Your statement was the piece that completed the timeline.
The DA's office is confident."
I looked out the window at the empty street.
"What will he be charged with?" I said.
"Wire fraud.
Estate fraud.
Filing false government documents — specifically, the false reporting that contributed to James being carried as d\*d on federal records for decades.
Potentially obstruction." A pause.
"It's a long list."
"Good," I said.
I made coffee.
I sat at the table.
At nine-fifteen, Carol arrived without calling first, which told me she had not slept either.
She came in and sat across from me and we waited together.
At eleven-forty, Marsh sent a text: *Warrant executed.
Subject in custody.
Calling you in ten.*
Carol read it over my shoulder.
Neither of us said anything.
When Marsh called, he was brief and clear.
Adrian had been at his home.
He had answered the door himself.
When the agents identified themselves, he had said — and Marsh read this from notes — *"I don't know what James has told you, but that man has been mentally unwell for years.
Whatever he's said, I can prove it's false."*
"What did the agents say?" I asked.
"They told him he had the right to remain silent," Marsh said.
"He didn't take that advice."
"What did he say?"
"He said, and I'm quoting directly — 'Mary will tell you.
Mary knows I've always looked after her.
She'll tell you I was nothing but good to that family.'"
I set my coffee cup down.
"He said that," I said.
"He did."
Carol was watching my face.
"What happens now?" I said.
"He'll be processed and arraigned.
His attorney will request bail.
Given the nature of the charges and his age, they may get it, but we'll oppose." A pause.
"Mrs.
Calloway, there's one more thing.
When we went through his home this morning, we found records.
Correspondence.
Some of it goes back to 1971." Another pause.
"He kept letters.
Letters James had sent — to you — that were never delivered."
The kitchen went completely silent.
"How many?" I said.
"We counted forty-three," Marsh said quietly.
"Over the years.
The last one is dated about eight years ago."
Carol put her hand over her mouth.
Forty-three letters.
Forty-three times James had written to me and Adrian had taken the envelope and kept it in a box somewhere in his house and let me sit alone on every anniversary believing I was a widow.
"Can I have them?" I said.
My voice was steady.
I don't know how.
"They're evidence for now.
But yes.
When the case is resolved, they'll be returned to you.
They belong to you."
I thanked him.
I ended the call.
Carol came around the table and put her arms around me from behind, her chin on my shoulder, the way she used to do when she was small.
"Forty-three letters," she said softly.
"I know."
"He wrote to you.
All that time."
"I know."
She held on tighter.
I looked at the yellow roses.
They were fully open now, wide and bright, filling the kitchen with a scent I hadn't smelled in fifty-six years without it breaking my heart a little.
May you like
Today it didn't break anything.
Today it just smelled like roses.
