Chapter 6
December came.
The holidays were always hard for me. My dad had died on Christmas Eve seven years earlier, and every year since, the season felt like it was missing something. This year was worse. This would be my first Christmas without Daniel. Well, without the lie of Daniel.
But Richard made sure I wasn’t alone.
He moved into the mansion permanently. He said the big house was too quiet, too lonely for just one person. He brought his old dog, a giant golden retriever named Max who immediately decided my bed was his bed. We decorated the tree together. We baked cookies that came out terrible. We watched old movies on the couch with Max between us.
For the first time since my dad died, Christmas felt like family again.
The new year rolled around.
The trial was now only two months away. Mara was working around the clock, preparing. The hitman had agreed to testify against Daniel in exchange for a reduced sentence. Olivia was ready. All the financial experts were lined up. All the witnesses were prepped.
We were ready.
But I wasn’t.
Not really.
Because testifying meant I had to relive every minute of it. The cheating. The slap. The threats. The hitman. I had to stand up in a courtroom full of strangers and tell them the most humiliating, painful moments of my life. And Daniel would be sitting right there, watching me.
One night in late January, I couldn’t sleep.
I got up at three in the morning and went down to the kitchen. I made myself some hot chocolate and sat at the island, staring out the window at the dark backyard.
“Can’t sleep either?”
Richard was standing in the doorway, wearing his bathrobe, Max at his heels.
“Nope,” I said. “Too much on my mind.”
He came in and sat down across from me.
“Talk to me,” he said.
I hesitated. Then the words came pouring out. All of it. The fear of the trial. The fear of seeing Daniel again. The fear that I’d break down on the stand and look weak. The fear that somehow, some way, Daniel would win. That he’d get off. That he’d come after me again.
Richard listened. He didn’t interrupt. He just sat there, nodding, his face serious.
When I finished, he reached across the table and took my hand.
“Clara,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
I looked at him.
“You are the strongest person I have ever known,” he said. “Stronger than me. Stronger than my son ever was. You survived five years with that monster. You outsmarted him. You outplanned him. You took everything he tried to steal and you built it back better. And when you get on that stand? You’re going to look those twelve jurors in the eye, and you’re going to tell them the truth. And they’re going to believe you. Because you’re real. Because you’ve got nothing to hide. And because Daniel is a liar and a thief and everyone in that courtroom is going to see it.”
He squeezed my hand.
“And if you do break? If you do cry? That’s okay too. You’re human. You’re allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be scared. Those aren’t weaknesses, Clara. Those are proof that you’re still alive. That he didn’t break you. Not really.”
I felt a tear roll down my cheek.
“What if he gets off?” I whispered.
“He won’t,” Richard said. “The evidence is too strong. But even if he did? Even if some miracle happened and he walked out of that courtroom a free man? He still loses. Because you have everything now. The company. The money. The respect. The family. And what does he have? Nothing. His mother hates him. His friends have all abandoned him. He’s broke. He’s a pariah. He’s already lost everything that ever mattered to him. He’s already in prison, Clara. Even if they let him out tomorrow, he’ll never be free of what he did.”
He was right.
I knew he was right.
But knowing it and feeling it were two different things.
Two weeks before the trial, Mara called me into her office.
She had a serious look on her face.
“Daniel’s lawyers made one last offer,” she said. “They want to plead guilty. To all charges. No trial. No testimony. No dragging you through the mud. In exchange, the prosecution will recommend a sentence of twenty‑five years instead of life. He’ll be eligible for parole when he’s seventy‑five.”
I sat there, stunned.
No trial.
I wouldn’t have to testify. I wouldn’t have to relive any of it. I wouldn’t have to see Daniel’s smug face across the courtroom every day for six weeks.
Twenty‑five years.
He’d be seventy‑five when he got out. If he lived that long. Most men in federal prison didn’t make it to seventy‑five. Especially not men like Daniel, who’d never spent a night in a cell in his life.
“Does the prosecution agree?” I asked.
“They’re willing,” Mara said. “The US Attorney called me this morning. He said it’s a good deal. We get guaranteed convictions on every count. No risk of a hung jury. No appeals based on courtroom drama. It’s over, Clara. One hearing, and it’s all over. You can move on with your life.”
I thought about it.
I thought about standing on that witness stand. I thought about Daniel’s lawyers asking me humiliating questions about my marriage. I thought about the media circus. The headlines. The comments.
And then I thought about something else.
I thought about the guy on the construction site with the twins. I thought about all the people Daniel had stolen from. All the lives he’d ruined. I thought about the hitman. About the life insurance policy. About the night in the driveway when he’d hit me and laughed.
If he pleaded guilty, there would be no trial. No public airing of every single terrible thing he’d done. He’d go to prison quietly, and in ten years, people would forget. They’d remember the billionaire heir who made a mistake. Not the monster who’d tried to kill his wife.
“I want the trial,” I said.
Mara blinked.
“Are you sure? Clara, this is a gift. Twenty‑five years—”
“I’m sure,” I said. “He doesn’t get to plead guilty and hide. He doesn’t get to avoid facing me. He doesn’t get to avoid facing every single person he hurt. I want him on that stand. I want him to have to listen while every single witness tells the world exactly what he did. I want him to have to look at me while I tell the jury how he hit me. How he planned to kill me. I want the whole world to know exactly who Daniel Hale is. And then I want the jury to give him life. No parole. No second chances. He dies in prison.”
Mara studied me for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Trial it is. And for the record? You’re making the right call. Men like Daniel? They don’t deserve quiet. They deserve to be exposed.”
She picked up her phone.
“I’ll call the US Attorney right now. Tell him the deal is off. We’re going to trial.”
The next six weeks were a blur.
Depositions. Witness prep. Evidence reviews. Jury selection.
Mara and I spent every night together, going over my testimony again and again. She’d play the aggressive defense attorney, asking me the worst questions she could think of, trying to make me cry, trying to make me angry, trying to make me look unstable.
And every time, I got better.
I learned to stay calm. To answer directly. To not let them rattle me.
“You’re going to be amazing on the stand,” Mara told me the night before the trial was set to begin. “The jury is going to love you. They’re going to hate him. It’s going to be a quick verdict. I promise you.”
That night, I slept better than I had in months.
I was ready.
The next morning, I put on a simple gray suit. No jewelry. No makeup beyond the basics. I wanted to look like what I was: a serious, honest woman who’d been through hell and come out the other side.
Richard met me at the front door.
He was wearing his best suit. His cane was polished. His face was set.
“Ready?” he asked.
I took a deep breath.
I looked at the mansion behind me. The place where I’d been so unhappy for so long. The place where my whole life had changed in one terrible night. The place that was now finally, truly mine.
I turned back to Richard.
I took his arm.
“Ready,” I said.
We walked out to the car together.
Max barked from the doorway, like he was cheering us on.
May you like
Today was the day.
Today, Daniel finally got what he deserved.
