“But it proves I’m telling the truth.”
Dos Santo nodded once, sharp and controlled.
“I’ll send agents to search for it.”
“There’s more,” I said quickly. “My old computer in the basement may have spyware that Vivien installed three years ago. The digital photo frame she gave me for Christmas likely contains one of the surveillance cameras you found. And if you check Dale’s documents carefully,
…you’ll find evidence that he recognized Vivien as being connected to Gerald Hartman’s past crimes.”
Dos Santo was already making notes.
“This is quite a detailed counternarrative you’ve constructed.”
“It’s not a narrative. It’s the truth—and I can prove every word.”
I paused, letting the weight of it settle in my chest.
“But I need protection. Gerald Hartman’s threat is real. He’s killed before. I’m almost certain he arranged my husband’s death. He won’t hesitate to kill me if it means protecting his daughter and his criminal empire.”
“I’ll arrange for enhanced security measures.” Dos Santo’s tone softened slightly. “And, Mrs. Whitmore… if everything you’re saying is true, you should have trusted your instincts earlier. You should have told someone what you suspected.”
“I know. But women my age are taught not to make waves—not to accuse people without proof, not to seem difficult or paranoid. I was raised to be polite, to give people the benefit of the doubt.”
My voice hardened.
“That’s what people like Vivien count on. That’s how they operate—using our good manners and social conditioning against us. But I’m done being polite. I’m done pretending not to notice things that are wrong. And I’m going to make sure everyone knows exactly what she is.”
That evening, Dorothy came to visit again. She looked exhausted, but determined.
“I found him,” she said quietly. “Michael. He’s been staying at a hotel. Vivien’s in a different facility—higher security. I waited in the lobby until he came down for dinner, then approached him.”
“What did he say?”
“At first, nothing. He tried to walk past me, but I blocked his path and told him I knew he was lying—that his testimony was destroying his mother.”
Dorothy’s voice shook as she went on.
“McKenzie… he broke down. Started crying right there in the hotel lobby. He said he knows you’re innocent—that he never believed you were involved. But Vivien convinced him that if he didn’t testify against you, they’d both get maximum sentences. She said the only way to save themselves was to make you the mastermind.”
My heart clenched, tight and painful.
“He knows I’m innocent and he’s still—”
“He’s terrified,” Dorothy said, gripping my hands through the barrier. “Vivien has controlled him for so long, he doesn’t know how to think for himself anymore. She’s convinced him that you’re strong enough to survive prison. That you’d want him to protect himself.”
Dorothy held my hands harder.
“But I could see it in his eyes. He’s haunted by what he’s done. He’s not sleeping, barely eating. The guilt is destroying him.”
“Did you tell him about Dale’s documents? About Vivien’s real identity?”
“I tried. He said he knows about her father—that she told him Gerald made mistakes in the past, but he reformed. She’s painted herself as the daughter trying to overcome her father’s sins, and Michael believes her.”
Dorothy shook her head, bitter with disbelief.
“He’s so deep in her manipulation, he can’t see the truth even when it’s right in front of him.”
“Then we need to force him to see it. When the FBI finds my journal, when they trace the spyware back to Vivien, when all the evidence comes together, he won’t be able to deny it anymore.”
And if he still does…
I thought about the son I’d raised—the boy who’d once told me everything, who’d trusted me completely.
“Then I’ll have to accept that I’ve lost him,” I said quietly, “that Vivien took my son just as thoroughly as she took my necklace and my freedom.”
I swallowed the ache and let the anger sharpen into something usable.
“But I won’t let her take my life. I won’t let her win.”
The next morning, Martin returned with news.
“The FBI found your journal. They’re reviewing it now. And, McKenzie—it’s even better than you described. You documented dates, times, specific conversations. Vivien’s questions about Dale’s career, about documents, about your jewelry. It creates a clear pattern of her targeting you for information.”
“Will it be enough?”
“Combined with everything else—the surveillance equipment, the wiretaps showing her talking to her father about you, Dale’s documents proving the foundation’s criminal origins—yes. I think it will be.”
He smiled, and it looked almost strange on his face in that place.
“The prosecutor called this morning. They want to talk about a deal.”
My heart leaped.
“What kind of deal?”
“They’re willing to drop all charges against you in exchange for your testimony against Vivien and Gerald Hartman. They realize you’re a victim, not a perpetrator. The journal proved that.”
“What about Michael?”
Martin’s expression grew somber.
“That’s the complicated part. His testimony against you was coerced, but he still provided it. He’s still legally liable for his role in creating the foundation structure. The prosecutor is offering him a reduced sentence if he agrees to testify against Vivien and her father.”
“How reduced?”
“Three years instead of twenty.”
Three years.
My son would spend three years in federal prison for being foolish enough to fall in love with the wrong woman. For trusting when he should have questioned. For choosing loyalty over truth.
“Will he take it?”
“I don’t know. That’s between him and his attorney.” Martin’s gaze held mine. “But, McKenzie, you need to decide if you’re willing to testify. It means facing Vivien in court, reliving everything she’s done. It means potentially watching your son go to prison.”
I thought about the twelve elderly victims who’d lost everything. About Evelyn Patterson in her nursing home, unable to speak. About Dale dying with his secrets, trying to protect a son who wouldn’t listen.
“I’ll testify,” I said. “It’s the right thing to do. It’s what Dale would have wanted.”
“Then I’ll inform the prosecutor. You should be released within twenty-four hours pending trial.”
Martin gathered his papers, then paused.
“McKenzie, you did something remarkable. You documented everything, trusted your instincts—even when you doubted them—and built a case that will bring down a criminal organization. That takes courage. It takes stubbornness… and maybe a little bit of spite.”
I smiled slightly.
“Vivien thought I was just a silly old woman—easy to manipulate. She underestimated me because of my age.”
I let the smile fade into something colder.
“That was her mistake.”
After Martin left, I sat in my cell feeling something I hadn’t felt in days.
Hope.
Not just hope for my freedom, but hope that justice might actually be served. That the victims might see their abusers punished. That Michael might finally understand what he’d been part of.
Gerald Hartman’s forty-eight-hour deadline came and went. No one attacked me. No mysterious accident occurred. He’d been bluffing, I realized—or perhaps the increased security made it impossible for his people to reach me.
Either way, I’d survived.
Now came the harder part: surviving the truth.
They released me on a Wednesday morning, exactly nine days after my arrest. Martin was waiting outside the federal building with Dorothy, both of them smiling as I walked through those doors.
A free woman.
The autumn air had never tasted so sweet.
“How does it feel?” Dorothy asked, embracing me.
“Surreal,” I said, my voice catching, “like I might wake up back in that cell.”
I looked at Martin.
“What happens now?”
“Now we prepare for trial. The prosecutor wants you to testify in three weeks. Vivien and Gerald Hartman are being held without bail. The judge determined they’re both serious flight risks, given their history of false identities.”
He handed me a folder.
“These are the charges—fraud, money laundering, conspiracy, witness tampering. The evidence from your journal, combined with the FBI’s financial investigation and the wiretap recordings, builds an airtight case.”
“What about Michael?”
Martin’s expression grew somber again.
“He accepted the plea deal yesterday. Three years in federal prison, followed by two years supervised release. He’ll testify against Vivien and her father.”
My son would go to prison.
The reality of it hit me like a physical blow.
“Can I see him?”
“He’s requested no visitors until after the trial. His attorney thinks it’s best if he can’t face you.”
I nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
See more on the next page
Advertisement
