Chapter 12 - Nadia Without a ScriptNadia asked for a deal three days later.
Her attorney contacted the prosecutor and offered cooperation in exchange for reduced charges. Detective Grant warned me before the meeting happened. He said I had a right to be angry. He said cooperation did not erase harm. He said sometimes the state used one guilty person to reach guiltier ones.
I understood.
I hated understanding.
Nadia sat for a proffer interview in a conference room at the DA’s office. I was not there, but Detective Grant summarized what she said afterward.
“She claims Trevor planned the fraud,” he told me.
“Of course.”
“She admits accessing your laptop.”
My jaw tightened.
“She admits downloading payroll documents and forwarding them to Trevor.”
I looked out the window.
It was raining. Thin gray rain, the kind that made everything look tired.
“She admits giving Donny your schedule.”
That one hurt differently.
I could almost forgive panic. Almost.
But schedules required time. Thought. Repetition.
“What else?”
Detective Grant hesitated.
“She says your mother knew you had not agreed.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The last door opening.
“How much did she know?”
“According to Nadia, your mother knew the plan was to pressure you into signing after the file was flagged.”
“And my father?”
“She says he did not know.”
That should have made me feel better.
It didn’t.
My father had not known the plan, but he had helped build the world where the plan felt possible.
Detective Grant continued. “Nadia says Trevor threatened her too. Some of that may be true. We have evidence he controlled accounts, tracked her phone, and had violent incidents before.”
I turned from the window.
“Does that change what she did to me?”
“No.”
I appreciated that he did not dress the truth up.
Two things could be true.
Trevor could be dangerous.
Nadia could be guilty.
Pain did not turn people holy. Fear did not give them permission to offer someone else as payment.
The prosecutor eventually offered Nadia a cooperation agreement. She would testify against Trevor, Sienna, Patricia, Blake, and Donny. In exchange, some charges would be reduced. She would still plead guilty to identity theft-related offenses and conspiracy. She would still face sentencing.
My mother called my father screaming when she found out.
“How can you let them do this to her?”
My father put the phone on speaker.
I sat across from him at the kitchen table.
“Linda,” he said, “Nadia confessed.”
“She was forced!”
“She confessed to using our daughter’s information.”
“She was scared!”
“So was our daughter on the garage floor.”
My mother made a sound like he had betrayed her.
“You’ve changed.”
My father looked at me.
“No,” he said. “I stopped hiding.”
He hung up.
For a long time, he stared at the phone.
Then he said, “I don’t know who I am without keeping everyone calm.”
I looked at him.
“Maybe you’re about to find out.”
The trial preparation took months.
My shoulder healed enough to remove the sling. Physical therapy hurt worse than I expected. My face returned to normal, mostly. My ribs stopped aching every time I breathed. But recovery was not the same as restoration.
I installed cameras at my apartment.
I changed jobs within the company to a location with secured access.
I checked my credit weekly.
I saved every unknown number.
Trauma made paperwork out of fear.
The prosecutor met with me twice to prepare testimony. She was a woman named Elise Warren, sharp-eyed and calm, with a voice that made excuses sound embarrassed to exist.
“Defense will try to make this about family conflict,” she said.
“It was family conflict.”
“No,” she corrected. “It was crime committed by family.”
I held onto that sentence.
Crime committed by family.
Not drama.
Not misunderstanding.
Not private business.
Crime.
The night before trial, Nadia sent a letter through her attorney.
I did not open it for three hours.
When I finally did, the first line was:
May you like
I know saying sorry is useless.
For once, she was right.
