Chapter 18 - The Cost of Telling the Truth
I refused to meet Eric alone.
Whatever he wanted to confess, he could tell it to his attorney, investigators, or a court.
Ruth agreed and arranged for any legitimate proposal to come through counsel.
Eric sent a written statement admitting that Diane had pushed him to sign papers he didn't fully understand.
He also acknowledged seeing the false power of attorney before the attempted closing.
Those admissions mattered more than his excuses.
His statement claimed he never intended to leave me permanently homeless.
I stared at that line.
Apparently an eviction was acceptable if the person doing it expected forgiveness afterward.
Ruth cautioned me not to mistake partial cooperation for complete honesty.
She was right.
A later financial production showed payments Eric had received months before the supposed sale.
He'd used some of the funds to cover personal debts I hadn't known existed.
One payment had financed a luxury vacation he'd told me was a reward from work.
I remembered the photographs of us standing on a hotel balcony, my hand resting on my pregnant stomach.
I had thought we were celebrating the life ahead.
He had been spending money tied to the plan against me.
The realization hurt more than another angry message could have.
At the next conference, Eric agreed to provide records and testimony about the transaction subject to his legal rights and counsel's advice.
Diane's side grew more aggressive.
Her attorney suggested I had known about the arrangement all along.
Ruth asked for a single contemporaneous message from me authorizing it.
None was produced.
Cynthia gave a sworn account about the witness signature and the papers she had seen.
The notary inquiry continued separately.
I learned to live with two realities at once.
The story was moving toward accountability.
And I was still a woman healing from childbirth, feeding a baby through the night, and grieving a marriage that had not been what I believed.
One afternoon Caroline found me standing in the foyer, staring at the staircase.
"You're allowed to keep loving the years that were good," she said.
"That doesn't mean you have to ignore what happened later."
I leaned against her shoulder.
That night Ruth forwarded a hearing notice on the contested financial claims.
The court would hear final arguments on whether the attempted transaction had any lawful effect on my title.
At the bottom of the notice sat one familiar name.
May you like
Benjamin Price had been subpoenaed.
