I felt something release in my chest. A tension I hadn't realized I'd been carrying. Angela would be okay. She'd survive, rebuild, maybe even thrive eventually, but she'd do it without me, and I was at peace with that. The next day, I met with my attorney to discuss a trust fund.
Not for Angela, but for the other victims Rebecca had mentioned. Women who were still struggling with medical costs, career damage, emotional trauma from Kyle's manipulation. You're setting up a fund for them? My attorney asked. Anonymous donation.
Small amount. Nothing that'll hurt me financially, but enough to help with medication costs or therapy. They deserve support. That's generous. It's strategic.
I corrected. Those women helped build the case that stopped Kyle. This is just compensation for their testimony. But really, it was more than that. It was recognition that not everyone had the resources I did.
Not everyone could weather a crisis with assets intact and careers undamaged. Some people needed help. And I was in a position to provide it. Not for Angela. Never for Angela, but for the others who'd suffered without the safety net I'd built.
That felt like justice. Eight months after Angela walked out, I attended a memorial service I never expected. Kyle Sheffield had been found dead in a Mexican hospital. Complications from the same parasitic infections he'd been spreading to others. Poetic justice, some might say.
The CDC held a closed briefing for those involved in the investigation. They tracked his movements across three continents, documented 17 separate exposure incidents, identified 12 victims, including Angela. The case was now closed, the threat neutralized. I sat in that briefing room feeling nothing but professional satisfaction. Kyle Sheffield had destroyed lives through recklessness and manipulation.
Now he was gone and the world was safer for it. Afterward, I drove to Angela's parents house. They'd asked to meet with me. Something about closure. Her mother answered the door, older and grayer than I remembered.
Owen, thank you for coming. Inside her father sat at the kitchen table. He stood when I entered, shook my hand firmly. We wanted to apologize for our daughter, for the position she put you in. That's not necessary, I said.
It is. Angela's mother insisted. We raised her better than that. We taught her integrity and responsibility. What she did was inexcusable.
She's rebuilding her life. I said, "That's what matters now. " Her father nodded. We know she calls us sometimes. She's getting help, therapy, working through what happened. We're proud of how she's handling the aftermath.
Even if we're ashamed of the choices that led to it, she learned a hard lesson. I agreed. But she learned it. Angela's mother poured coffee. None of us drank.