“Dad,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I left.”
“Hush,” he kissed my forehead. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
He turned to the acting marshal.
“General,” my father said.
“Yes, Mr. Chief Justice?”
“That man inside,” my father gestured toward the house, “will be in federal custody. No bail. He’s a flight risk. He’s a danger to society. I’ll sign the order myself.”
“Understood, sir.”
“And make sure,” my father added, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper, “that he understands exactly who he’s messing with.”
Chapter 6: Freedom
Six Months Later
The garden on my father’s Virginia estate was in full bloom. The cherry blossoms were falling like pink snow.
I sat on a stone bench, feeling the sun on my face. My body had healed almost completely. The scars on my back had faded, becoming white lines. The scar on my heart—the empty space where my baby should have been—was still raw, but it was bearable.
As I sat on the bench, I picked up the Washington Post.
The headline read: “Former lawyer David Miller sentenced to 25 years.”
I read the article.
David had been charged at the federal level. Assaulting a relative of a federal judge carries severe penalties.
But they found other things too. When my father’s friends started investigating, they discovered that David had been defrauding his clients. They found fraud. They found everything.
He pleaded guilty, sobbing in the courtroom, begging for mercy. The judge—a man my father had mentored twenty years earlier—sentenced him to the maximum.
Sylvia had been sentenced to ten years in prison for aiding and abetting and obstruction of justice.
They were gone. Erased.
My father came out of the house with two cups of tea. He sat down next to me.
“Are you reading the news?” he asked gently.
“Only the comics,” I lied, folding the newspaper.
He smiled. “You look good, Anna. Stronger.”
“I feel stronger,” I said. “Yesterday I applied to Georgetown Law School.”
My father raised his eyebrows. “Law? I thought you hated the law.”
