She's my mother and I'm your father. Doesn't that count for anything? Tears started flowing down Emily's cheeks and I realized I was asking a 20-year-old to choose between her parents in a situation that no child should ever have to face. I can't do this, she said.
I can't choose sides. You don't have to choose sides. You just have to choose the truth. What if you're wrong?
What if mom really is afraid of you? And this is all some paranoid fantasy. Then I'll be arrested, prosecuted, and probably imprisoned for fraud and harassment. My business will be destroyed.
My reputation will be ruined. And you'll never have to see me again. And if you're right, then your mother will face the consequences of 20 years of criminal behavior and will try to rebuild our relationship based on honesty instead of manipulation. Emily wiped her eyes and looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.
What do you want me to do? Nothing. Just stay out of the way and let the truth come out. Don't lie for her.
Don't lie for me. Just tell the truth about what you've seen and heard. And if she asks me to testify against you, then you'll have to decide whether you're going to help her commit perjury or help me prove my innocence." Emily nodded slowly. "Okay, I can do that.
There's one more thing. Your mother's planning to file a restraining order against me Monday morning along with divorce papers that will probably ask for custody restrictions. I need you to know that whatever happens, I love you and I'm going to fight for the right to be your father. I love you, too, Dad." She hugged me then, and for the first time in months, I felt like I had an ally in my own family.
Sunday passed in a blur of final preparations. Lisa and I met with the prosecutor's office to review the fraud charges. My lawyer filed the restraining order petition against Megan, citing harassment and threats against my business. Nathan provided his sworn statement detailing Megan's manipulation and the conspiracy to steal my client information.
By Sunday evening, everything was in place for Monday morning's coordinated legal assault. I didn't sleep much that night. I kept thinking about the past 15 years, trying to identify the moments when Megan had stopped being my wife and started being my adversary. Had there been signs I'd missed, warning signals I'd ignored, or had she simply been that good at maintaining her cover?
It didn't matter now. Tomorrow would bring the reckoning that had been building for months, and by the end of the day, one of us would be destroyed, and the other would be free. I was betting on freedom. Monday morning arrived gray and cold with the kind of persistent drizzle that made everything look like a crime scene.
I was at the courthouse by 8:00 a.m. along with my lawyer and a briefcase full of evidence that represented the end of my marriage and possibly the beginning of my vindication. Megan arrived at 8:30 with her own lawyer, a sharp-dressed woman who specialized in domestic relations and victim advocacy. They looked confident, prepared, like they were expecting an easy victory over a deranged husband who'd finally snapped. They were about to learn otherwise.
The hearing was scheduled for 9:00, but at 8:45, two detectives from the Milbrook Police Department approached Megan in the courthouse lobby. Margaret Walsh. Yes. You're under arrest for fraud, identity theft, and conspiracy to commit theft of trade secrets.
You have the right to remain silent. I watched from across the lobby as they handcuffed my wife and led her away. Her lawyer following behind and demanding explanations that wouldn't come. Emily was there, too, having insisted on attending despite my suggestion that she stay home.
She watched her mother's arrest with the same stunned expression I'd seen when she'd learned the truth about Megan's past. "Is it over?" she asked me. This part is, I said, but it's going to take a while to sort everything out. What happens now?
Now we try to figure out how to be a family again. Just the two of us. Emily nodded and I saw something in her face that I hadn't seen in months. Hope.
The restraining order hearing was postponed indefinitely pending the outcome of the criminal charges. Megan's divorce petition was withdrawn by her lawyer, who clearly hadn't known about her client's criminal history. Nathan left town that afternoon, keeping his promise to disappear and start over somewhere else. By evening, the local news was running the story of the Milbrook marriage fraud case, complete with photos of Megan's previous identities and interviews with her earlier victims.
I turned off the television and tried not to think about the media circus that was about to descend on our quiet neighborhood. Dad. Emily appeared in the living room doorway, looking younger than her 20 years. Yeah.
Are we going to be okay? I looked at my daughter, the one good thing to come out of 15 years of marriage to a woman who'd turned out to be a stranger and felt something like peace settle over me for the first time in months. Yes, sweetheart. We're going to be fine.
And for the first time since this whole mess started, I actually believed it. The game was over. And I'd finally learned the most important rule. Sometimes the only way to win is to stop playing by someone else's rules and start writing your own.