Chapter 10 - Adrian Finally Calls
The protective order prohibited Adrian from contacting me.
So he used his attorney.
The message was simple.
Adrian wanted to negotiate.
Rachel advised me to refuse.
I asked to hear the proposal anyway.
Adrian would plead to a reduced charge.
He would waive any claim against my condo.
He would agree to an uncontested divorce.
In exchange, I would decline to cooperate with investigators regarding the financial documents.
I read the proposal twice.
Then I laughed.
Rachel did not.
“They are scared.”
“They should be.”
“This is not just Adrian anymore.”
“Federal investigators are reviewing Pike’s records.”
I stared at Adrian’s signature at the bottom of the offer.
For six years, I had loved that man.
Or perhaps I loved the man he performed for me.
The funny husband who brought me coffee on construction-site mornings.
The man who danced badly in our kitchen.
The man who cried during our wedding vows.
I wanted to believe that version had been real.
But love does not erase evidence.
And memory does not cancel danger.
I rejected the offer.
That evening, Adrian broke the court order.
He called from an unknown number.
I answered without thinking.
“Claire.”
I recognized his voice immediately.
“You cannot contact me.”
“Please.”
“You need to talk to your attorney.”
“I’m losing everything.”
I almost admired the statement.
Not I hurt you.
Not I am sorry.
Not are you healing.
I am losing everything.
“You threw a plate at my head.”
“I was angry.”
“You forged documents.”
“My father handled those papers.”
“Your signature is everywhere.”
“You don’t understand what he’s like.”
Something in his voice shifted.
Fear.
Real fear.
“My father controls everyone.”
“Then why did you help him?”
Silence.
“Because that’s what happens in this family.”
“No.”
“That’s what you chose.”
He began crying.
I had never heard Adrian cry like that.
“Claire, if I testify against him, he’ll destroy me.”
“If you don’t, prosecutors might.”
“That’s why I need you.”
“No.”
“You’re my wife.”
“Not for much longer.”
His breathing changed.
Then he whispered something I would remember for years.
“There’s another recording.”
I stopped.
“What recording?”
“The night my uncle died.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that have to do with this?”
May you like
“Everything.”
The line went dead.
