Chapter 275: Its Getting Worse , The Deeper You Dig

"How much," said Olivia.

Sean calculated.

"Significant," he said. "But not difficult."

He texted Max.

Find me the best domestic violence prosecution attorney in the city who takes cases like this seriously. I want their name by tonight. And I want the full documentation package ready to go to them by Monday morning.

Max’s reply came back fast.

Already have two names. Sending now.

Sean forwarded Max’s list to the number he had saved for Elena Voss. She knew attorneys. She would know which of Max’s two names was the one with actual conviction rates rather than impressive letterheads.

Elena replied in eleven minutes. The second one. Margaux Devlin. Twenty-two year career, ninety-one percent conviction rate in domestic violence cases, doesn’t take cases she doesn’t intend to win. She’s expensive.

How expensive, said Sean.

Her retainer for a case like this is around $80,000, said Elena. Full litigation could run to $200,000 or more depending on how hard his defense fights it.

Sean looked at that figure for about one second.

He made the transfer.

[80,000 dollars spent]

[Balance: $68,671,275]

[160,000 dollars received — 2x baseline]

[New Balance: $68,751,275]

He texted Elena back. Transfer sent. I need an introduction to Margaux Devlin today if possible. I have a complete documentation package ready by Monday. The case involves physical assault with a withdrawn police report, credit fraud, and a pattern of documented abuse.

I’ll call her now, Elena replied. She doesn’t usually take calls on Fridays. She’ll take this one.

Olivia had been reading the exchange over his shoulder.

"$80,000," she said.

"Retainer," said Sean. "The full case is more."

"You just spent $80,000 on an attorney retainer," she said.

"Yes," said Sean.

"For someone who hurt Rebecca," she said.

"For someone who hurt a person," said Sean. "Who that person is doesn’t change the math."

Olivia was quiet for a moment.

"You’re going to put him in prison," she said.

"I’m going to give a prosecutor with a ninety-one percent conviction rate everything she needs to do her job," said Sean. "What happens after that is her domain."

He looked at his phone.

Elena had already replied. Meeting with Margaux Monday at 9 AM. I’ll be there too. She wants to see the full documentation package before she confirms.

She’ll confirm, said Sean.

I expect so, said Elena. And then: Sean. What you’re doing. It’s the right thing.

He put his phone in his pocket.

He looked at the campus around him. Students moving between classes, the ordinary machinery of a university morning, indifferent to the specific shape of what had just been set in motion.

"She held your hands," said Olivia. Not accusatory. Just noting.

"Yes," said Sean.

"She still loves you," said Olivia. The same tone. Just noting.

"She thinks she does," said Sean. "She loves what she lost when she lost me. That’s a different thing."

Olivia looked at him.

"Are you sure about that distinction," she said.

He held her gaze. "Yes."

She held his gaze for another moment. Then she nodded, the specific nod she gave when she’d decided to trust something without requiring more explanation than what she’d been given.

"The slap," she said.

"Yes," he said.

"Too much," she said.

"No," he said.

She almost smiled.

"She had her hands on you," she said.

"She did," he said.

"I don’t particularly enjoy watching other women hold your hands," said Olivia. "For the record."

"Noted," he said. "For the record."

She took his hand again. The specific replacement of one hold with another, deliberate and entirely clear.

They walked toward the building where she had lecture at two, the campus around them doing its Friday afternoon things, the city beyond the gates doing whatever cities did when a prosecutor with a ninety-one percent conviction rate was about to receive a documentation package assembled by the sharpest researcher Sean had ever hired.

Sean texted Max one more time.

Good work. Thank you.

Max replied in thirty seconds.

He hurts people who can’t fight back. Some things you don’t charge for.

Sean looked at that.

Then he put his phone in his pocket and walked with Olivia through the campus to think of what to do next

===========

Sean woke at six on Monday.

Not because of an alarm. Because six was when his mind started working whether his body was ready or not, the specific quality of a morning with something significant in it that the subconscious had been organizing all night.

He lay still for a moment.

Then he got up and made coffee and opened his laptop and went through Max’s documentation package one more time.

Max had sent it at eleven forty-two Sunday night, which meant he’d been building it through the weekend without being asked to move faster than he’d said he would. The package ran to forty-three pages. Sean read every one.

The credit fraud was clean. Two unauthorized purchases using Sean’s information from a supplementary account Anthony had opened without authorization. $340 on a Friday three weeks ago. $890 on a Tuesday the week after. Receipts, account timestamps, the specific digital trail that existed whether or not anyone had been looking for it.

The noise complaints were documented from the building’s management records, which Max had obtained through a channel Sean decided not to ask about. Two complaints in thirty days, both flagged as domestic in nature, both marked closed for lack of follow-up.

The withdrawn police report. Max had found the original filing through a contact at the station who apparently owed him something from a previous research job. The report had been filed at eleven PM on a Tuesday. Withdrawn three days later. The original contained language specific enough that a prosecutor would understand immediately what she was looking at.

And then the financial picture. Anthony’s credit cycling, the overlapping accounts, the pattern of someone burning through available credit faster than any honest emergency could explain.

Forty-three pages.

Sean closed the laptop and finished his coffee.