Chapter 7 - The Jailhouse Plea and the Ultimatum
The mugshot of Ryan Reynolds—disheveled, handcuffed, and staring blankly into the camera lens of the Wake County Detention Center—was published across local news sites by Friday morning. Breaking and entering, property damage, and attempted theft in the dwelling of a pregnant woman were not minor civil disputes; they were serious felony charges that no amount of corporate connections or high-priced lawyers could easily brush aside.
Vanessa had tried to post his bail using what little cash she had left, but her bond application was summarily rejected by a judge who cited Ryan’s active status as a flight risk given his frozen assets and impending multi-million-dollar civil lawsuits.
I was sitting in Naomi Brooks’s conference room reviewing trust diversification portfolios when my phone rang. The caller ID didn't say Ryan; it said *Wake County Detention Facility — Inmate Call*.
I pressed accept on speakerphone so Naomi and David Sterling could both listen.
“Claire?” Ryan’s voice sounded hollow, cracked, and completely shattered. The arrogant confidence he had carried when walking out of our townhouse seven weeks ago was completely gone. “Claire, please... you have to drop the criminal charges. They’re talking about five years in prison, Claire. Five years. I’ll lose everything—my license, my reputation, my entire life.”
“You broke into my home, Ryan,” I replied evenly, sipping my herbal tea. “You carried a crowbar through my back door while your pregnant wife was sleeping upstairs. What did you expect would happen?”
“I was desperate! Vanessa told me... she convinced me that if we didn't find those original records, we’d lose our last chance at the lawsuit settlement!” he sobbed softly on the other end of the line, instantly throwing his mistress under the bus the moment things turned truly dangerous.
“Ah, so now it’s Vanessa’s fault,” I noted coldly. “It was Vanessa’s idea to cheat on me, Vanessa’s idea to empty our accounts, and Vanessa’s idea to break into my house.”
“She’s a leech! She drained me of every dollar I had left, Claire! She’s the one who pushed me into all of this!” Ryan cried out, his voice rising in hysterical desperation. “Please, Claire, we were married for three years! Have mercy on me. Drop the charges, sign a reasonable settlement, and let’s just walk away clean. I’ll sign whatever divorce papers you want. I’ll give you full ownership of everything!”
I exchanged a quick, knowing glance with Naomi, who nodded approvingly and slid a yellow legal pad across the table with a few written words on it.
“Ryan,” I said clearly into the phone. “Here are my terms. If you want me to speak to the district attorney about reducing or dropping the criminal breaking and entering charges, you will sign a full, unconditional confession admitting to intentional marital abandonment, deliberate asset concealment during our prenuptial signing, and orchestrating the online defamation campaign.”
“A full confession?” Ryan gasped in horror. “That means I’ll be disbarred from practicing architecture! That’s professional suicide!”
“That’s not my problem, Ryan,” I replied sharply. “That’s the price of admission for your freedom. You have twenty-four hours to sign the confession through your defense attorney and hand over every single communication proving Vanessa’s active participation in the smear campaign. Otherwise, I’ll see you at your felony trial.”
I clicked the end call button before he could utter another word of protest.
May you like
Naomi leaned back in her leather chair, smiling admiringly. “Well, Claire, you certainly didn't need law school to learn how to negotiate. By tomorrow afternoon, Ryan will hand us the exact ammunition we need to completely destroy Vanessa’s legal standing as well.”
“Good,” I said, resting my hand gently on my belly. “Because it’s time to clean house completely before my daughter is born.”
