Chương 5
Finnley looked at her. “You knew less than that when your office put me in prison.”
Ruiz absorbed the sentence without looking away.
Nora said, “Finnley.”
“No. She came over here to be careful. They get careful after.”
Ruiz’s face tightened. “I did not prosecute your case.”
“You work in the same building.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know where the stairs are.”
He closed the car door.
Ruiz remained beside it for a moment. “Your anger is justified,” she said.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Approve it like a form.”
Her shoulders lowered a fraction. “All right.”
She returned across the street.
Nora started the engine again but did not put the car in gear.
“I liked her better when she was irritating,” Finnley said.
“She’s still irritating.”
“Good.”
At eleven forty-three, a forensic technician carried Camden’s coat from the facility in a transparent bag. Even from across the road, Finnley recognized the cracked button.
He got out of the car and vomited beside the curb.
The document addressed to him was released three days later.
By then, Reagan and Carter had both been charged with financial crimes, obstruction, evidence tampering, and conspiracy related to Finnley’s prosecution. Neither had been charged in Camden’s disappearance. Carter hired a criminal defense attorney named Anthony Vale, who issued a statement saying his client had acted under years of coercive control and looked forward to establishing the full truth.
Reagan’s attorney blamed Walter Ames.
Pike appeared on television and described Walter as “an unstable former employee with personal grievances and unexplained access to private materials.” Walter watched the interview from Finnley’s hotel room while eating canned soup from a paper cup.
“Former employee,” Walter said. “I still work there till Friday.”
Finnley muted the television.
Walter had begun visiting each afternoon, usually bringing something Finnley did not need. The first day it was a flashlight. The next day, a socket wrench. On Thursday he arrived with a jar of pickled beans made by a woman from his church.
Finnley put the jar in the minibar.
“You don’t have to keep coming,” he said.
Walter studied the silent television. “I know.”
“You feel guilty.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not a church project.”
“No.”
“You don’t get points for agreeing with everything.”
Walter scratched his cheek. “I don’t attend church.”
“You just said a woman from your church made the beans.”
“My late wife’s church. The woman keeps claiming me.”
Finnley almost smiled.
A courier delivered the letter at four in the afternoon. Nora arrived ten minutes later, carrying copies of the forensic handwriting report and a sealed evidence receipt.
The envelope was brittle at the folds. Camden had written FINNLEY in block letters, pressing hard enough to leave grooves in the paper.
Finnley sat at the hotel desk.
Walter moved toward the door.
“Stay,” Finnley said.
The old man sat on the edge of the bed.
Finnley opened the envelope with a butter knife.
The letter consisted of six pages written on yellow legal paper. Camden’s handwriting slanted forward, impatient even when no one was watching.
Finnley,
If Walter gives you this, then I failed to fix what I allowed to happen.
I know you did not take the money. I knew before your trial, though not early enough and not bravely enough. Reagan showed me transfers, copies of your signature, and security footage. I wanted them to be false, but wanting something is not the same as standing behind it. I let you see doubt in my face. I do not know whether I can repair that.
Finnley stopped reading.
His thumb covered the rest of the paragraph.
Nora sat in the chair by the window. Walter looked at his shoes.
Finnley continued.
The transfers were built around accounts I created years ago to hide losses from lenders and investors. That was my wrongdoing. Reagan discovered those accounts and used them to move company money under your name. Carter helped her gain access. I believe he also altered the office video, though he denies it.
I kept my own dishonesty quiet because exposing it would have cost the company, our properties, and likely my freedom. While I protected what I had built, you lost your freedom instead.
There is no honest way to describe that except cowardice.
Finnley pushed back from the desk.
The chair wheels struck the wall.
Nora said his name quietly.
“He knew before the trial.”
“Yes.”
“He sat behind the prosecutor.”
Walter looked up. “He came to me after the verdict.”
Finnley turned on him. “You knew that too?”
“I knew he thought you’d been framed. Didn’t know the rest.”
Finnley slapped the pages onto the desk. “He could’ve walked into court.”
“He said he needed proof.”
“He had a mouth.”
Walter flinched.
Finnley stood too fast. The room tilted. He caught the desk and stared down at Camden’s portrait.
Three years in prison had been held together by one belief: his father had been deceived. Finnley had imagined Camden slowly uncovering the truth, working in private, refusing to rest. In his angriest moments, he had imagined Camden ashamed but helpless.
The letter offered something worse.
Camden had made a choice.
Finnley picked up the pages again.
I am going to confront Reagan tonight. The original records and devices are in Unit 108. I have recorded a statement, but the full evidence will matter more than my word. If I do not return, Walter has instructions to deliver everything.
Do not protect my reputation. I protected it enough.
I do not expect forgiveness.
May you like
There are things I should have said when saying them would not have been an emergency. I was proud of you when you repaired the boiler at Cedar Court without asking for help. I was proud when you refused to evict Mrs. Halpern after her husband died, though you cost me four months’ rent and lied poorly about the paperwork. I was proud that you left the company when working for me began turning you cruel.
You were right to leave.
