Chapter 9 - THE WOMAN ON THE WITNESS STAND
The trial began eleven months after Derek punched Amelia.
By then the scar from that night had faded.
The older scar remained.
Raymond sat at the defense table in a dark suit.
Exactly the kind he used to wear when accompanying Amelia to weddings.
Polished.
Handsome.
Reasonable.
That was what frightened her most once.
Nobody looking at him would guess.
Then Amelia understood that was exactly why she had to testify.
She took the oath.
Raymond watched.
His attorney began gently.
That made it worse.
“Ms. Hayes, you loved Mr. Fletcher?”
“Yes.”
“You lived together for six years?”
“Yes.”
“You discussed marriage?”
“Yes.”
“You occasionally described him to friends as your best friend?”
“Yes.”
The attorney smiled.
“Yet today you describe him as abusive.”
“I do.”
“Those seem inconsistent.”
“No.”
“How?”
Amelia looked toward the jury.
“Because someone can be kind Monday and hurt you Tuesday.”
Silence.
“They can bring flowers Wednesday and make you believe Tuesday was your fault.”
Raymond looked away.
The attorney changed tactics.
“You never reported the alleged assaults at the time.”
“No.”
“In fact, you told an emergency room doctor you fell down stairs.”
“Yes.”
“So you lied.”
“Yes.”
“Why should this jury believe you now?”
Amelia breathed.
Because that question had haunted her for years.
“Because I'm not asking them to believe only me.”
She looked at Raymond.
“Look at the medical records.”
The recordings.
The neighbors.
The photographs.
The financial control.
The messages.
The threats.
The flowers at the hospital.
The break-in.
The Red Hook recording.
Everything Raymond had once relied on her hiding was now visible.
His attorney pushed.
“You secretly recorded my client.”
“Yes.”
“Without his knowledge.”
“Yes.”
“Would you call that honest behavior?”
Amelia thought.
“No.”
The lawyer seemed surprised.
“No?”
“I'd call it frightened behavior.”
She looked at him.
“Honest behavior would have been telling him I was recording.”
A pause.
“But honest behavior got me hurt.”
The courtroom was silent.
The financial trial against Marco Moretti ran separately.
Evidence from Raymond's recordings contributed to convictions there as well.
Luca testified.
Derek testified.
Vincent was called as a witness about the diner assault and later threats.
When a prosecutor asked whether he threatened Derek on the night Amelia was attacked, Vincent answered:
“Yes.”
His attorney nearly died.
“What did you tell him?”
“That if he approached Amelia again, it would create a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“I hadn't decided.”
The prosecutor stared.
“So you threatened violence?”
Vincent considered.
“I had a very poor communication style at the time.”
Even Amelia laughed.
The judge did not.
Raymond's verdict came after fourteen hours of deliberation.
Guilty on the most serious counts.
Not every count.
Enough.
Amelia listened without touching her scar.
Raymond stood.
For one moment their eyes met.
There was anger.
Disbelief.
Then something Amelia had almost never seen in him.
Powerlessness.
She felt no joy.
Only space.
As if a room inside her that Raymond had occupied for years had finally been emptied.
Outside court, Vincent waited.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“How do you feel?”
“Hungry.”
He blinked.
“That's it?”
“I skipped breakfast.”
He laughed.
“Castellano's?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I've eaten there six days this week.”
“Traitor.”
“I want Thai.”
Vincent held up both hands.
“Your choice.”
“Look at you.”
“Growth.”
They walked toward the car.
Amelia stopped.
“Vincent.”
“Yes?”
“I've been thinking.”
His expression became cautious.
“Never good.”
She ignored him.
“I don't want to waitress forever.”
“Okay.”
“I've managed half that diner for three years without the title.”
“Also true.”
“Tony wants to retire eventually.”
Vincent began to understand.
“I want to buy in.”
He stared.
“Buy?”
“Yes.”
“I could give—”
She gave him a look.
He stopped.
“Sorry.”
“I'm applying for a small-business loan.”
“Okay.”
“And I want the books.”
“All of them?”
“All.”
“Amelia, some of Tony's bookkeeping methods may qualify as historical fiction.”
“Then we're changing them.”
Vincent smiled.
“What percentage?”
“Twenty-five to start.”
“You've thought about this.”
“For months.”
Vincent held out his hand.
She stared.
“What?”
“Business.”
Amelia shook it.
“Business.”
Then Vincent didn't release her.
“Dinner tonight?”
“Business?”
“No.”
“Then maybe.”
“Amelia.”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
Their first official date lasted three hours.
Their second lasted five.
On the third, Vincent cooked.
That nearly ended the relationship.
“You murdered the pasta.”
“It was al dente.”
“It was construction material.”
“You're very judgmental.”
“I work in food.”
“Used to.”
“Still do.”
Six months later, Amelia owned twenty-five percent of Castellano's.
She introduced health insurance for full-time staff.
Updated the accounting.
Added late-night security.
And absolutely refused to rename the diner.
“Your name belongs there,” Vincent said.
“So does Tony's.”
“You're stubborn.”
“Yes.”
“I like that.”
“Dangerous habit.”
Vincent smiled.
“No.”
He looked at her.
May you like
“I think it's the safest one I've ever developed.”
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