Chapter 7 - The Interrogation
The aftermath of the gala was swift and brutal.
Because the arrest occurred in such a high-profile manner, the news broke across local media by morning. St. Ambrose Medical Center immediately suspended Lydia without pay pending the criminal investigation, and Marcus Vance was held on a $500,000 cash bond due to flight risks associated with his Cayman Islands accounts.
Lydia was released on her own recognizance after sixteen hours of intense interrogation. She returned home at 4:00 p.m. on Sunday, looking hollow, exhausted, and broken. Her expensive hair was matted, her mascara smeared, and her designer dress replaced by wrinkled sweatpants provided by her sister who had picked her up from the station.
I was sitting in the living room, reading a book, when the front door slammed open.
“You knew,” Lydia screamed, her voice hoarse from crying. She marched into the living room, her eyes burning with rage. “You knew about the audit! You set me up!”
I carefully marked my page and closed the book, setting it on the coffee table.
“I didn't set you up, Lydia,” I said calmly. “You stole from your employer to line the pockets of the man you were sleeping with. You set yourself up.”
She froze, her rage instantly turning into horror. “What… what did you say?”
“October 14th, the Drake Hotel in Chicago,” I said, my voice steady and measured. “November 2nd, the spa resort in Traverse City. $65,000 from our joint emergency fund spent on boutique dinners, silk ties, and luxury suites.”
She backed away, pressing her hand against her mouth. “Jerome… I… I can explain…”
“You don't have to explain anything,” I replied, standing up. “You already explained everything when you handed me that separation agreement three weeks ago. You wanted me to take seven thousand dollars and walk away into a basement apartment while you built a life with Marcus on stolen money.”
“Jerome, please!” she sobbed, dropping to her knees on the rug, reaching out to grab my pants leg. “Marcus manipulated me! He forced me to sign those invoices! He told me he loved me, but he was just using me! You know me, Jerome! We’ve been together for eleven years!”
I looked down at her. Two years ago, seeing her cry like this would have broken my heart. Today, it felt like watching a bad actress perform a play I had already read.
“I don't know you at all,” I said softly.
I pulled a thick white envelope out of my jacket and placed it on the coffee table beside my book.
“What is that?” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.
“That is a formal counter-petition for divorce,” I said. “Drafted by Arthur Sterling. It demands a full financial accounting of all dissipated funds, forfeiture of your equity in this house to reimburse the stolen joint savings, and immediate formal legal separation.”
She looked at the document, then up at me, desperation clawing at her voice. “Jerome, if you sue me now, I’ll be completely ruined! The hospital is suing me, the state is prosecuting me, and my legal fees will be hundreds of thousands of dollars! I have nothing left! We have to stand together!”
May you like
“No, Lydia,” I said, stepping past her toward the front door where my suitcase was already packed and waiting. “You have nothing left. I am going to be just fine.”
I opened the door, stepped out into the crisp winter air, and closed it behind me, leaving her weeping on the floor of the empty house.
