He refused.
It was his final mistake.
“I didn’t assault her,” he barked. “She’s my wife.”
One officer glanced at my dress, the empty glass, and Elise’s tablet. “Sir, being married doesn’t give you permission to put your hands on her or throw anything at her.”
Vivian stepped forward angrily. “My son is a respected consultant. She’s vindictive. She controls the money and uses it to humiliate him.”
I nearly laughed. Even now, she clung to her favorite narrative: Garrett was the victim of a woman whose money he continually spent.
The officer faced me. “Do you want to make a statement?”
“Yes.”
Garrett grimaced. “Claire, don’t.”
His warning no longer frightened me.
I explained the essential facts, leaving aside years of minor insults, Vivian’s corrections of my posture at dinners, and Garrett’s holiday jokes about my work. I described the forged account, unauthorized purchases, threat, assault, and his attempt to seize my phone after I sought help.
