Chapter 6
The day of the preliminary hearing was cold and gray.
Rain tapped against the car windows as Aunt Helen drove me to the courthouse.
She held my hand the whole way.
“You’ve got this,” she said.
“Your father is right there with you.”
I nodded.
I wore a simple black dress.
Not the Versace.
Not yet.
Today was about facts.
About justice.
The courtroom was packed.
Reporters, family members, people from the company.
Grant sat at the defense table, his face pale, his suit too big.
He didn’t look at me.
His lawyer sat beside him, flipping through papers, a bored look on his face.
Becca sat in the back row, a scarf wrapped around her head, sunglasses on even inside.
She’d kept her promise.
She’d given the police everything.
She was here to testify.
The prosecutor called me first.
I walked to the stand, raised my hand, and swore to tell the truth.
The prosecutor asked me about the dress.
About the funeral.
About the letter I’d found in Grant’s nightstand.
I told every detail, my voice steady, no tears.
I didn’t look at Grant.
I looked at the judge.
At the jury.
At the people who would decide his fate.
When I finished, the defense lawyer stood up.
He smiled, slimy and fake.
“Mrs. Carter,” he said.
“Or should I say, Ms. Hale? You and Mr. Carter were having marital problems for years, weren’t you? You were grieving your father. You were stressed from running the foundation. Isn’t it possible you misinterpreted some of these events? That the letter was a draft, a joke, something he never intended to act on?”
I leaned forward slightly.
“No,” I said.
“It wasn’t a joke. He stole two million dollars from my father. He brought his mistress to my father’s funeral wearing my birthday gift. He planned to have me committed. That’s not a joke. That’s a crime.”
The lawyer tried to press me.
Tried to twist my words.
Tried to make me sound angry, unstable.
But I didn’t break.
I stayed calm.
I stayed focused.
Because I knew the truth.
And I knew what came next.
The prosecutor called Becca to the stand.
She walked to the front, her hands shaking.
She told the court everything she’d told me.
How Grant had lied to her.
How he’d given her the dress.
How he’d talked about getting me out of the way.
She showed the text messages, the emails, the voicemails.
Grant’s face got redder and redder as she spoke.
His lawyer objected half a dozen times.
The judge overruled every single one.
Next, the prosecutor called a forensic accountant.
He walked the court through the bank records.
Showed exactly how Grant had siphoned the money.
How he’d hidden it in secret accounts.
How he’d tried to cover his tracks.
Then he called a doctor.
The same doctor Grant had talked to about committing me.
The doctor testified that Grant had offered him fifty thousand dollars to sign papers saying I was a danger to myself.
That he’d refused.
That he’d reported the conversation to the medical board.
The evidence was overwhelming.
When the hearing ended, the judge ruled there was enough cause to proceed to trial.
Grant was taken into custody.
Two police officers walked over, cuffed his hands behind his back, and led him out of the courtroom.
He didn’t look at me once.
Aunt Helen hugged me tight outside the courtroom.
Reporters shouted questions.
I didn’t answer any of them.
I just stood there, breathing in the cold air, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders I hadn’t even known I was carrying.
That night, we had dinner at my father’s house.
Just me and Aunt Helen.
We cooked his favorite pasta, opened a bottle of his favorite wine.
We talked about him.
About the way he used to sing off-key in the shower, about the way he’d sneak me candy before dinner when my mom wasn’t looking, about the way he’d always told me I could do anything.
“I miss him,” I said, staring at his empty chair at the head of the table.
“I know,” Aunt Helen said.
“But he’s here. He’s proud of you. I know he is.”
I looked up at the wall, at the photo of him hanging there, grinning, holding the first check he’d ever written for the foundation.
May you like
I smiled.
For the first time in months, it felt real.
