Chapter 8: The Ground Shifts
Raymond was arraigned on a Thursday morning in March.
I was not in the courtroom.
Vera had advised against it, and I had agreed — not because I was afraid to be there, but because I had learned in the past three weeks that there was a difference between needing to witness something and needing it to happen.
Raymond being arraigned needed to happen.
I didn't need to watch it.
Vera called me at 10:47 AM.
"He entered a not-guilty plea.
His attorney is Martin Graves — corporate defense, expensive, which means Raymond has been planning for this possibility longer than we thought."
"What does that mean for the timeline?"
"It means he'll fight it.
Discovery, motions, possibly a plea negotiation down the road.
But the evidence is strong, Sabrina.
The expired notary, the email chain, Alyssa's testimony, the county recorder's records.
Graves is good, but he's not a magician."
"And the accident investigation?"
"Still active.
The detective assigned — her name is Rourke — she called me yesterday.
They found something."
I stood up from my desk.
"What?"
"A second traffic camera.
Private security system on a commercial property about a quarter mile north of the crash site.
The owner never came forward because he didn't know his footage was relevant.
Detective Rourke found it during the canvass." Vera paused.
"The footage shows a dark SUV following Wyatt's truck at close range.
It shows the SUV accelerating before the curve where the truck went off the embankment.
And it shows the SUV leaving the scene without stopping."
The room was very quiet.
"Can they identify the vehicle?" I asked.
"Partial plate.
They're working it." Another pause.
"Sabrina.
This is real.
I want you to understand that.
This is a real investigation with real evidence."
I sat back down.
"Does Raymond know?"
"His attorney will be notified through the proper channels.
Yes, he'll know soon."
---
Raymond called me that evening.
I answered because Vera had told me to keep a record of any contact he initiated.
"I want to talk to you," he said.
"Face to face.
Without lawyers."
"That's not going to happen."
"Sabrina.
I'm your father."
"You forged my signature four months after my husband d*ed.
You sold the home he spent nine years building.
And there is now a camera recording that shows a vehicle following Wyatt's truck the night he went off that embankment." My voice was level.
"So no.
We're not meeting without lawyers."
A long silence.
When he spoke again, something in his voice had changed.
The control was still there, but underneath it was something else.
Something that sounded, for the first time, like a man who understood the size of what was closing around him.
"Whatever you think happened that night," he said, "you don't have the full picture."
"Then give it to Detective Rourke.
That's what she's there for."
"I'm trying to protect you."
"From what?"
He didn't answer.
"Raymond," I said.
"If you had anything to do with what happened to Wyatt, there is nothing you can say to me that will matter.
And if you didn't — if somehow this is all a terrible coincidence — then the investigation will show that, and you'll have nothing to worry about." I picked up my pen.
"Either way, we're done talking."
I ended the call and wrote down the time: 7:22 PM.
Duration: three minutes, fourteen seconds.
I sent the note to Vera.
She replied within the minute: *Good.
Don't answer again unless I'm on the line.*
---
Alyssa called two days later.
She had found an attorney — a woman named Grace Holloway who specialized in family law and civil fraud cases.
She had given a full formal statement.
She had also, she told me quietly, spoken to Detective Rourke.
"She asked me about the night Wyatt d*ed," Alyssa said.
"Whether Dad had said anything.
Whether anyone had come to the house that night."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her there was a man.
He came to the back door around nine o'clock.
I only saw him for a minute through the kitchen window.
Dad took him outside and they talked for maybe twenty minutes.
I never saw his face clearly." She paused.
"I didn't think anything of it at the time.
Dad had contractors in and out constantly.
But after reading those emails, after everything — I told Rourke."
"You did the right thing."
"Sabrina." Her voice dropped.
"If Dad did what I think he did — if he actually arranged it — I don't know how to live with that.
He's my father."
"I know."
"How are you living with it?"
I thought about Wyatt calling from the driveway.
The tiredness in his voice.
*Your father and I had words tonight.*
May you like
"One day at a time," I said.
"That's all there is."
