PART 5
The envelope on the dining table did not have divorce papers in it. Those came later, and separately, and were extremely boring.
It had three things.
A summary of the audit. Forty-one pages, dated, with an index.
A copy of a letter I had sent at 6:15 that morning — before I left the parking garage — to the company’s outside auditor, to the fraud line at the bank that held the payables account, and to the state revenue authority.
And one page listing every underlying document by reference, and where the originals were being held.
That was it. No note. Three words on the front of it, which I had written in the car with a pen that was in the glovebox.
I have been asked why I bothered with the envelope at all, since I had already sent everything.
The honest answer is that I wanted him to open a thing in an empty apartment and understand that it had already happened, and that there was no conversation available to him, and that the version of this where he called me and talked me around had been over since six that morning.
I am not proud of that. I am not ashamed of it either. It is just true.
Verna Strand was charged fourteen months later. The company went into administration in the spring; there was nothing to save and there had not been anything to save since 2019.
Her case is still going. Her lawyers are good, and she is sixty-four now, and there is a real possibility that the worst thing that happens to her is that she is not rich.
She has never been charged over the night in the kitchen and she never will be. I did not pursue it, and I want to say plainly why, because I have been criticized for it in ways that I found unhelpful.
Because that case is one woman’s word against another’s, and it would have taken two years, and I had a document that ended her instead.