Chapter 7: The Weight of What He Knew
Vera called me into her office three days later.
She had a yellow legal pad covered in notes and a second folder she hadn't opened yet.
She waited until I sat down before she said anything.
"The DA reviewed Dennis Holt's statement and the photograph," she said.
"They're opening a formal investigation into the circumstances of Wyatt's accident."
I had known this was coming.
I had prepared myself for it.
My eyes still stung.
"What does that mean practically?" I asked.
"It means they'll pull the original accident report, re-interview the responding officers, and attempt to recover any additional traffic or surveillance footage from that night.
The Route 9 camera malfunction will be scrutinized." She paused.
"It also means Raymond will likely be interviewed."
"He'll lawyer up immediately."
"Of course.
But the email chain Alyssa provided is already in the DA's hands.
The phrase 'the other problem has resolved itself' — in the context of a documented plan to defraud you of a property your husband was actively blocking — that is not nothing, Sabrina."
"Is it enough?"
"That's not my call.
But it's enough to open the door." She set down her pen.
"I want to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly.
When you first read that email — the one about the other problem — what did you believe?"
I looked at the window behind her.
The sky outside was flat and gray, the kind of February sky that offers nothing.
"I believed my father arranged for someone to follow Wyatt that night," I said.
"And I believed that whatever happened on Route 9 was not an accident."
"Do you still believe that?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly.
"Then I want you to be prepared for the possibility that this investigation takes time.
Months, possibly longer.
And I want you to be prepared for the possibility that even with everything we have, a criminal charge related to Wyatt's d*ath may be difficult to prove beyond reasonable doubt."
"I know."
"Knowing and living with it are different things."
I looked back at her.
"Vera.
I spent four months thinking my husband d*ed because of black ice on a dark road.
I spent four months grieving a random accident.
If it wasn't random — if Raymond took him from me on purpose — then I need that to be investigated.
Even if it takes years.
Even if it never results in a charge." My voice held.
"Wyatt deserves that."
Vera looked at me for a long moment.
Then she opened the second folder.
"The fraud case is moving faster," she said.
"The DA has enough for a formal charge on the forged Power of Attorney.
Raymond will be arraigned within the next two weeks.
The charge carries a potential sentence of two to five years." She slid a document across to me.
"The title dispute has been upheld by the county recorder.
The sale to Todd Ferris has been voided.
The $182,000 is subject to a civil recovery order."
"What about Alyssa's purchase contract for the new house?"
"She used the $182,000 as her down payment.
With the civil recovery order in place, that money is frozen pending the fraud resolution.
Her purchase contract is in default." Vera paused.
"She's going to lose the house she was buying, Sabrina."
I had known that too.
I had sat with it for three days.
"She made a choice," I said.
"She didn't look closely enough because she didn't want to.
That has a cost."
"It does." Vera's voice was careful.
"How are you and she — "
"We're talking.
It's not easy.
But we're talking."
---
I drove to my mother's house that evening.
Not Raymond's house — my mother's house, which was how I had started thinking of it.
My mother, Carol, opened the door before I knocked.
She had been watching for me.
She looked older than she had three days ago at the dinner table.
Smaller somehow.
"Come in," she said.
We sat in the kitchen.
She made tea she didn't drink.
I watched her hands move around the cups and the kettle with the careful precision of a woman trying to keep herself occupied.
"Did you know?" I asked.
"About the Power of Attorney.
About what he was planning."
She was quiet for a long time.
"I knew he was going to do something with the property.
He told me you'd agreed."
"I hadn't agreed."
"I know that now." She looked at her hands.
"I think I knew it then, too.
I just — he told me it was for the family.
For Alyssa's future.
And I wanted to believe him."
"Did you know about Wyatt?"
Her head came up fast.
"What about Wyatt?"
I watched her face carefully.
The shock was real.
Whatever Raymond had done or planned, Carol hadn't known.
I was certain of that in the way you can be certain of things you've known your whole life.
"There's an investigation," I said quietly.
"Into the accident.
I can't tell you more than that right now."
Her face went white.
Her hand went to her mouth.
"Carol." I used her name deliberately, not Mom, because what I needed in that moment was to speak to her as one adult to another.
"If Raymond contacts you about any of this — the fraud charge, the investigation, anything — you need to call your own attorney.
Not his.
Yours."
She stared at me.
"Do you think he — " She couldn't finish the sentence.
"I think there are questions that need answers," I said.
"That's all I can say."
She nodded.
Her eyes were wet.
She didn't cry, which told me she was holding something back, something she would have to sit with alone later.
I left her the name of a family law attorney I trusted.
I set it on the table next to her untouched tea.
When I got back to my car, I sat for a moment in the dark.
Wyatt had called me from this driveway the night he d*ed.
I had been in Columbus.
I had been tired from the conference.
I had said, *Tell me when you get home.*
He had said, *I will.*
May you like
I let myself feel that for exactly one minute.
Then I started the car.
