Chapter 9: The Settlement He Didn't Deserve
Priya said no to the meeting before I could answer.
"Not in person," she said.
"Not without a full written proposal submitted in advance.
And not until the criminal investigation has reached a formal stage." She paused.
"What he wants is to sit across from you and use the same tactics that worked for three years.
We're not giving him that room."
"What does he want to settle?" my sister asked.
"He hasn't specified.
His solicitor used the word 'resolution.' Which means he wants something stopped." Priya's voice was dry.
"The freezing order is hurting him.
He can't access his accounts.
He can't move money.
He has a fraud case, a domestic case, a no-contact violation, and a forged document in evidence.
He's feeling the walls."
"Good," my sister said.
I didn't say anything.
I was thinking about what a settlement would mean.
Whether it would mean he walked away without consequence.
Whether it would mean I signed something else with my name.
"I won't sign anything that protects him," I said.
"You won't be asked to," Priya said.
"And if you were, I would advise you strongly against it.
Any settlement that attempts to restrict your testimony in the criminal or civil proceedings would be unenforceable and potentially illegal." She paused.
"But I want you to be prepared for what he may offer.
He may offer money.
He may offer to drop any counter-claims.
He may try to make the forged statement disappear as a gesture of good faith."
"None of that matters," I said.
"No," Priya said.
"But it will be presented as if it does.
I want you to hear it from me first so that when his solicitor's letter arrives, you don't feel the weight of it alone."
The letter arrived the following afternoon.
Priya read it first, then summarized it for me.
He was offering a financial settlement.
A lump sum, the amount left blank pending agreement.
He was offering to withdraw the forged statement from any proceedings.
He was asking, in return, that I provide a written confirmation that I did not intend to pursue criminal charges in relation to the domestic incident.
"He wants me to let him walk away from what he did to me," I said.
"Yes."
"In exchange for money."
"Yes."
I looked at my sister.
She was looking at the wall.
"What happens if I say no?" I asked.
"The cases continue.
Both of them.
The domestic investigation, the fraud case.
His assets remain frozen.
The clip remains in evidence.
Your statements stand." Priya paused.
"Saying no costs you nothing you haven't already committed to."
"Then no," I said.
Priya said, "I'll draft the response."
"Can I add something?" I asked.
"What would you like to say?"
I thought about it carefully.
About the doorframe and the hammer.
About eleven forged documents.
About my mother stepping back from an upstairs window.
About the envelope he had handed to a security guard and walked away from, so certain it would work.
"Tell him the clip stays," I said.
"Tell him the statements stay.
Tell him the only thing I want from him is for the court to see everything."
Priya was quiet for a moment.
"I'll word it appropriately," she said.
Three days later, Kai's solicitor responded.
He was withdrawing the settlement offer.
He would be contesting both proceedings.
Priya called to tell me.
"He's going to fight," I said.
"Yes.
Which means he's going to make more mistakes." She paused.
"Are you ready for that?"
I thought about the word ready.
I had not been ready for any of this.
I had not been ready for the hospital, for the clip, for the forged signature, for Darren Osei's documents, for my mother standing back from a window.
I had not been ready for any of it.
But I was still here.
"Yes," I said.
The hearing for the freezing order was set for the following week.
Constance called to walk me through what would happen.
Darren would be present.
His legal team would present the financial evidence.
Priya would present the domestic case file.
The forged statement would be entered as evidence of attempted witness intimidation.
"Will he be there?" I asked.
"Yes.
With his solicitor."
"Will I have to speak?"
"Not at this hearing.
Your statements are already in the file.
You don't need to be present at all if you prefer."
"I want to be there," I said.
My sister looked up.
"Are you sure?" Constance asked.
"I want to see it," I said.
"I want to be in the room when they read out what he did."
A pause.
"Then we'll arrange it," Constance said.
The night before the hearing, my sister and I sat together in the hospital room — I was being discharged the following morning, cleared to attend the hearing and then go to our mother's house to recover.
My sister had brought food from the place down the road that I had been craving for four days.
We ate without talking much.
At some point she said, "Do you remember what you said to me when I first asked if you were going back?"
"I said no."
"You said it like you were testing whether the word still worked," she said.
"Like you weren't sure it would hold."
I thought about that.
"It held," I said.
"It did." She gathered the empty containers.
"It held everything."
I slept well again that night.
In the morning, a nurse helped me into a wheelchair to navigate the corridor to the exit.
My foot was still bandaged, still tender, still weeks from being fully healed.
My sister pushed the chair.
At the front desk, Denise was finishing her shift.
She looked up as we passed.
"Good luck," she said.
Simply.
Like she meant it.
"Thank you," I said.
Outside, the air was cold and sharp and real.
My sister helped me into the car.
Before she started the engine, she sat for a moment with her hands on the wheel.
"Ready?" she said.
May you like
"Yes," I said.
She drove.
