Chapter 15
Ihad spent my entire career building a reputation on objectivity, on letting numbers speak truths that humans tried to bury. In the next thirty seconds, I was going to set fire to all of it with two words.
The preliminary hearing room was smaller than I'd expected.
Wood-paneled walls, fluorescent lighting that drained the color from everyone's skin, and Victor Reeves sitting at the defense table looking like someone's distinguished grandfather at a board meeting rather than a man who moved human beings like warehouse inventory.
His lawyers flanked him in matching charcoal suits, their legal pads full of strategies designed to take me apart.
I'd been waiting in the witness room for two hours. Two hours of terrible coffee, pacing a path into the industrial carpet, and trying not to think about the gallery. About whether there'd be an empty seat or an occupied one. About which answer would be worse.
"Ms. Ashford?" The bailiff appeared in the doorway. "They're ready for you."
My legs did something strange as I walked, went light, disconnected, like they belonged to someone else and I was borrowing them for the occasion.
The hallway stretched. The doors approached.
Then I was through them and inside, walking toward the witness stand while every pair of eyes in the room tracked my progress like I was a tennis ball in a slow-motion rally.
Chen gave me a small nod. The defense attorneys watched me the way cats watched movement through a window. And Reeves smiled at me, pleasant and warm, the kind of smile that belonged on a man offering you lemonade on his porch.
You tried to kill me, I thought, holding his gaze as I passed. You sent men to cut my brake lines and run me off a road. And you're sitting there looking like you'd help a stranger carry groceries.
My father had smiled like that too. Not the same smile, but the same architecture. Warmth over nothing. Performance all the way down.
The oath was dry in my mouth. I sat in the witness chair, adjusted the microphone, and folded my hands in my lap. The tremor in my fingers was manageable if I kept them interlaced. Manageable was the best I had today.
"Please state your name and occupation for the record," Chen began.
"Lindsey Ashford. I'm a certified forensic accountant specializing in financial crime investigation."
"And how did you become involved in the investigation of Meridian Tech?"
"I was originally retained by the state bar to conduct a compliance audit of Sterling they collected them. "Ms. Ashford, during the course of this investigation, where have you been living?"
My pulse climbed. Not to my face, I hoped. I'd practiced this. Rehearsed it. Stood in a bathroom mirror and said the words until they sounded matter-of-fact instead of incriminating. "In a secure location arranged by the FBI."
"And before that? After your apartment was broken into and your car was sabotaged?"
"I stayed at William Steele's penthouse."
"His penthouse." Webb let the words hang in the courtroom air like smoke. "For your safety, of course."
"Yes."
"So the subject of your audit offered you a place to live, and you accepted.
You worked together daily. Shared meals.
Spent evenings reviewing evidence in close proximity.
" His voice remained pleasant, but the pleasantness had developed a point.
"Quite intimate quarters for an auditor and her subject. "
"The circumstances were unusual. As I mentioned, my apartment was compromised and my vehicle was sabotaged. The FBI concurred that a secure location was necessary."
"I'm sure they did." He paused. Drew it out. The courtroom was quiet in the way that courtrooms get when everyone knows something is about to happen. "Ms. Ashford, isn't it true that your relationship with William Steele has become personal?"
The room contracted. I was aware of Chen tensing at the prosecution table. Of the jury's sudden forward lean. Of Reeves, that smile back on his face, wider now, because he knew what was coming and he was enjoying it.
"Define personal," I said. Buying time. A few seconds. I needed a few seconds.
"Romantic." Webb's voice lost its warmth in one clean motion, like a curtain dropping. "Isn't it true that you're romantically involved with William Steele? And that this involvement calls into question every piece of evidence you've presented today?"