Chapter 7 - DAVID'S DEAL
David talked for nine hours.
He named business partners.
Accountants.
Lobbyists.
Contractors.
Politicians.
He described fake invoices.
Offshore transfers.
Bribes disguised as consulting fees.
For every person he named, he tried to make himself sound smaller.
Less important.
Less guilty.
Reed wasn't impressed.
“You created Northstar.”
David looked away.
“I helped.”
“You authorized transfers.”
“Yes.”
“You forged your wife's signature.”
“My staff handled documentation.”
Reed leaned forward.
“David.”
Silence.
“You forged your wife's signature.”
David finally whispered, “Yes.”
“And Dr. Cole?”
David stiffened.
“That was family court strategy.”
“You bribed a doctor.”
“I paid for an assessment.”
“You paid for false medical documentation.”
David rubbed his face.
“I was trying to protect my daughter.”
Reed's expression sharpened.
“From her mother?”
“Yes.”
“The mother who was holding your daughter while she died?”
David's face collapsed.
“Don't.”
“You want a deal?”
Reed's voice went cold.
“Then you don't get to choose which truths hurt.”
David covered his face.
“I didn't know.”
“You made sure you didn't know.”
That sentence destroyed him.
He didn't speak for almost a minute.
Then he whispered, “I thought Maya was calling because she found out about Julianne.”
Reed stared at him.
“So you rejected fifty calls.”
“I wanted space.”
“Your daughter was dying.”
“I didn't know!”
“You keep saying that like ignorance was forced on you.”
David looked down.
It was the first time anyone had said the exact thing I had felt.
He didn't know because he chose not to know.
That mattered.
Julianne was furious when she learned David had named her as a co-conspirator.
Her deal changed immediately.
She surrendered more evidence.
Including voice messages.
One of them was recorded on the yacht.
David sounded drunk.
Julianne was laughing.
“What if Maya finds out?”
“She will.”
“And?”
“I'll handle her.”
“What about Lily?”
“She'll adjust.”
“Kids don't adjust that fast.”
“She loves me.”
Julianne said, “She loves her mother more.”
Then David answered:
“She'll get over it.”
I listened once.
Only once.
Then I turned it off.
Lily had died asking for him.
And he had once believed she would simply “get over” losing me.
I stopped wondering whether I should feel guilty for helping prosecute him.
There was no guilt left.
Only sorrow.
And clarity.
Two weeks after his arrest, David asked for permission to attend Lily's grave under federal supervision.
I said no.
The decision wasn't mine legally.
But Reed asked my opinion.
I told him the truth.
“He can go.”
Reed seemed surprised.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the grave won't forgive him.”
Three days later, David stood where I had stood.
Rain again.
Same cemetery.
Same frozen ground.
Two marshals behind him.
No yacht.
No linen shirt.
No Julianne.
Just a dark prison transport coat and handcuffs.
He knelt beside Lily's grave.
Then Reed handed him the drawing I had found.
When Daddy comes home we can all go to pancakes.
David broke.
Not quietly.
Not elegantly.
He collapsed onto the wet grass.
I watched from inside a parked car fifty yards away.
He didn't know I was there.
He pressed the drawing to his chest.
“I’m sorry.”
Again.
“I’m sorry.”
Again.
“I’m sorry.”
It changed nothing.
Then he looked toward the gravestone.
And whispered something I could barely hear.
“I'll tell them everything.”
Reed heard it too.
The next morning, David gave federal agents a name he had protected from the beginning.
A name nobody expected.
May you like
My brother.
Thomas.
