April 23
The investigator looked up, disappointment heavy in his voice. There will be no conditional sentence.
I gave a small nod, managing a faint smile. Very well.
He lowered his eyes. Even your cooperation wont count. I could only offer a real term and, given the sums involved, itd be a tidy amount in pounds.
Alright, I understand, I repeated, my tone steady.
Ms. Anderson, he began.
Just Charlotte, please, I snapped, sharp. Im not after titles or polite formalities. I want nothing to do with that man.
He shrugged. Procedural, sorry.
My procedure should at least allow a change of details while in custody, I snapped, irritation threading my words. I havent the faintest idea how long Ill be here, but the moment Im out Ill alter everything.
So you came forward not out of civic duty but personal reasons? You have a personal grudge against the accused?
I let a small laugh escape. A grownup and a detective asking such naïve questionsyour system never makes anyone sit for a few years just to punish someone else. Its nonsense!
In the best case theyd send an anonymous tip. I walked in myself, to make sure they couldnt slip away. If you like, call it revenge.
Even as an accessory youll face a real term, he reminded me.
Thats fine by me, I replied, a restrained smile tugging at my lips.
A heavy silence fell. He could have sent me to a cell and returned to his paperwork, but he lingered. There was something oddly compelling about menothing romantic, just a human curiosity.
When Inspector Thomas Grant stared at me, a flicker of pity sparked in his eyes, the kind you feel for a stray kitten on the pavementwanting to feed it, warm it, protect it. Yet Thomas never pities people; kittens, perhaps, but not humans. That detached professionalism made him a good detectiveuntil now, when the system itself cracked.
A citizen reports a crime, admits to being an accomplice, the prosecutor says there are no indulgences. Documents go to court, let the wheels turn. Yet here I am, a stern, composed woman, and I cant help feeling a pang of sympathy for her, like for that little kitten.
Could you open the window? I asked suddenly. Theres no breeze in here, you know.
There are bars, he replied.
You think Im planning an escape? I laughed. Please.
Thomas cracked the old sash and the November chill rushed in, making me shiver.
Cold, isnt it? he said.
Its refreshing, I breathed out, inhaling the damp air.
May I come closer? I gestured toward the opening.
He stepped aside, clearing a space.
Care to tell me how you ended up like this? I tried to make light of it, not for the record.
Do you need to know? I asked.
Perhaps, he shrugged. Just to get it off your chest.
—
My earliest memories are of waiting for my parents, the places shifting constantlynursery, grandmas house, a neighbours flat, the playground, my own bedroom walls.
Dad ran a family business, back then called a cooperative, but the name didnt change the reality. With my name, I learned a mantra:
Parents must work hard so the family never lacks.
Only when I started school could I spend any time with Mum, and that was because she gave birth to two brothersfirst one, then three years later another.
I wanted more attention, but even as a child I knew younger siblings demanded most of Mums care. When the youngest entered nursery, the responsibility for him and his brother fell squarely on me.
Remembering those days without Mum, I did my best to be a mother to them. Money was never an issue; I was taught early how to manage it, though I never understood why my parents, despite their wealth, never hired a housekeeper.
My career path wasnt set for me.
Accountant! Dad declared. Thats what our firm needs. Having your own accountant is half the battle.
I completed my first year with ease. Once the basics were mastered, Dad placed me in his companys finance department and urged:
Learn on the job; youll be handling everything later.
The brothers werent yet old enough for serious matters.
When I finally qualified, Dad turned the conversation to marriage. He introduced a string of young mensons of his partnersto choose from. I never imagined such a bargain. Yet I was drawn to Edward, a few years my senior, handsome, tall, and modest among the suitors.
Parents approved, and before the wedding I moved into Edwards flat. The union forged new contracts, joint ventures, and projects; our families businesses intertwined, the marriage serving as a seal of honest intent.
I kept working in Dads accounts, and Edward offered a partnership:
Our families firms are so tangled theyll never untangle. My fathers chair will be taken by my older brother, but I need a trusted accountantwho else but my beloved wife?
Delighted, I accepted. I could not refuse my husband, nor betray my father. Family, after all, is family.
Pregnancy simplified things. The accounting work could be done remotely, reports and declarations couriered, sparing me the commute. I gave birth to a son and a daughter, and when maternity leave ended I continued the books from home.
The directors chair at Dads firm slipped from my reach; my brothers were now eyeing it, and the parents leaned toward making them the heads.
Tragedy struck. Mum died suddenly from an aneurysm; Dad suffered a stroke amid the stress. The brothers visited, pleading:
We cant place him even in a toptier care home! We cant trust a team of nurses! You handle the accountsif he says something, it could cost us a fortune.
I had to agree to move Dad into the house I shared with Edward. Our children were already studying abroad. The move was massive: servers and ledgers for both firms were housed there.
Looking back, my whole life had been a preparation to conceal financial maneuveringswithout tricks, business stalls. I became the face of the interests, holding a third of the firms assets by right of kinship. Edward performed just as well, and together we managed the empire.
Five years passed, and I cared for Dad, learning nursing and rehabilitation on the side. Age and the strokes aftereffects took their toll.
Then the nightmare began. The reading of Andrew Clarkesmy fatherswill revealed I was an adopted child, taken from a childrens home. By his decree, I was excluded from inheritance. My brothers, greedy, plotted to claim everything.
Edward, upon learning Id receive nothing, filed for divorce immediately. He produced a prenuptial agreement I had signed without reading, which stripped me of any claim.
When my children heard that Mom and Dad were separating and that I would be left penniless, they turned their backs on me. They clung to their father, as if I never existed. Both firms dismissed me without ceremony. I was left with nothing but a battered handbag containing my ID, the clothes on my back, and £5,000 in spare change.
The only thing I held onto was the password to a cloud vault where, once a month, I uploaded encrypted backups of both companies accounts. Without that key, the data was inaccessible. It could fetch a fortune from my brothers or exhusband, but revenge drove me.
I went to the police and confessed to being an accessory to fraud for years, ready to spill every secret, asking for no leniency.
The investigator proposed: Lets log this, or you can tell everything in court. Theyre people too; they might show mercy if you help.
I stared into his sympathetic eyes and said:
At seven, my brother was born and Ive been a hamster wheel ever sinceschool, watching over my brothers, then training, then juggling two jobs, marriage, two more jobs, children, and finally caring for a paralysed father. And now three more jobs! I forced a nervous grin. I just want a break. Give me what Im owed, and Ill serve my time happily.
Eight years later, I walked out of the registry office as Veronica Hart, a new name, a blank slate. The world ahead was unknown, waiting to be learned anew.
Hello, Im Veronica, I introduced myself, trying to sound friendly.
Five more years of unpleasantness loom, but for now, Im just trying to catch my breath.
