“Yes.”
“Is it possible you are using that composure now to conceal personal resentment?”
I looked at him for a moment.
“Yes,” I said.
The courtroom stirred.
He blinked. “Yes?”
“Yes, I resent being assaulted in my sleep. I resent forged signatures. I resent fraud. I resent attempts to steal my pension. I resent threats against my career. Composure does not mean absence of feeling. It means my feelings are not in command of the facts.”
The prosecutor lowered his head, hiding a smile.
The attorney tried twice more to paint me as cold, ambitious, vengeful. Each time, he struck the same wall: documented evidence.
Finally, he asked, “Did you ever love Ryan Hale?”
I turned toward the jury.
“I loved the person I believed he was,” I said. “That person did not exist.”
No one spoke.
Even Linda looked away.
The verdict came after two days.
Guilty on the major counts.
