Chapter 7 - The Counter-Strike
On Thursday, December twenty-ninth, Marcus Vance called us back to his private office on the thirty-fourth floor of the Fisher Building.
The snowstorm had cleared, leaving behind a sky of blinding, brilliant cobalt blue. Detroit lay stretched out beneath the towering gothic windows, bathed in crisp winter sunlight.
When we walked into Marcus's office, we found a fourth person sitting in the leather club chairs: Dr. Ronald Evans, the renowned chief of oncology from Grand Rapids who had treated my late mother during her final months. Dr. Evans was a tall, silver-haired gentleman with an air of absolute, unimpeachable integrity.
"Dr. Evans?" I asked, completely surprised. "What are you doing here?"
Dr. Evans stood up, extending a warm, sympathetic hand. "Emily, it's good to see you, though I wish it were under happier circumstances. Marcus called me yesterday afternoon regarding the allegations Margaret Carter made in her court petition."
Dr. Evans pulled an official, sealed medical dossier from his leather briefcase and set it on the mahogany desk.
"When your mother was undergoing her final rounds of immunotherapy in August," Dr. Evans explained, his tone heavy with righteous indignation, "Emily paid the remaining balance of the clinic's specialized drug protocol out of her personal savings. The forty thousand dollars. It was processed directly through our foundation's billing office."
"We know that, Doctor," Daniel said. "We provided the bank records."
"Yes, but you didn't know what Margaret did with that information," Dr. Evans said, his jaw tightening. "Three weeks ago, Margaret Carter visited my office personally. She offered a three-hundred-thousand-dollar endowment to our pediatric research wing on one condition: that I sign an affidavit stating that Emily had consulted our clinic for 'clandestine paternity testing' and that the forty thousand dollars was paid to an off-the-books genetic research entity."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "She tried to bribe you to falsify medical records?"
"I threw her out of my office," Dr. Evans said flatly. "I told her that if she ever approached me or my staff again, I would report her to the state medical board and the county prosecutor. I thought that was the end of it. I had no idea she had actually gone ahead and filed a court petition claiming those absurdities anyway."
"She didn't just file the petition, Ronald," Marcus Vance said, his eyes glittering behind his glasses like two polished stones. "She used Harrison to suborn perjury. We have the draft affidavit Margaret’s investigator prepared, which Harrison had the audacity to keep in his office safe."
Marcus turned to Daniel and me, a predatory, victorious smile curving his thin lips.
"We don't just have a civil case for intentional infliction of emotional distress and slander," Marcus said. "We have clear, documented evidence of attempted bribery, conspiracy to commit fraud upon the court, and subornation of perjury. That is not a civil lawsuit, my friends. That is a multi-count criminal indictment."
Daniel stood silent for a long moment, processing the enormity of what was lying on the table.
"If the prosecutor files charges," Daniel asked quietly, "what happens to her?"
"Given her age and lack of prior criminal record, she won't go to a maximum-security prison," Marcus replied realistically. "But she will be arrested. She will be fingerprinted. She will have her mugshot taken and splashed across every newspaper in Michigan. She will face mandatory house arrest, massive financial penalties, and complete, irrevocable public ruin. The Carter name, which she worships above God himself, will become synonymous with cheap, back-alley criminality."
Daniel walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the frozen expanse of the city. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, his hands clasped behind his back, the exact posture his father used to take whenever he had to make a painful corporate decision.
I walked over and stood beside him, sliding my fingers into his. His hand was warm, steady, and strong.
"Daniel," I whispered. "You don't have to carry the burden of protecting her anymore. Whatever happens to Margaret, she built this fire with her own hands. She just assumed we would be the ones to burn in it."
Daniel turned his head to look at me. He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles.
"I’m not thinking about protecting her, Em," he said softly. "I’m thinking about what my dad told me on his deathbed."
"What did he tell you?"
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"He said: *'Daniel, a man who allows his mother to destroy his wife is a coward who doesn't deserve a family.'*" Daniel turned back toward Marcus Vance, his voice ringing with absolute, unyielding clarity. "Hand the file over to the Wayne and Oakland County prosecutors, Marcus. Let the law take its course."
***
