Chapter 7 - The Confrontation at the Threshold
When Damian opened the front door of our home at two that afternoon, he didn't look like the confident forty-year-old executive who had mocked me in front of thirty people the night before.
His expensive suit was rumpled. His tie was loosened, his hair disheveled, and his eyes bloodshot from crying. He dropped his cardboard box on the floor, and it spilled open, his MBA diploma cracking against the floor tiles.
I was sitting at the dining room table, surrounded by legal folders, highlighters, and Marcus Vance’s forensic notes.
Damian looked at the spread of papers, then looked at me. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the carpet, burying his face in his hands.
"She ruined me," he choked out, his voice cracking into broken sobs. "She locked me out. She stole my logins. She filed an internal complaint saying I forged the safety documents myself. Iris... oh God, Iris, they’re going to arrest me."
I didn't move from my chair. I didn't offer a hug or a comforting word.
"Stand up, Damian," I said coldly.
He looked up, tears streaking his cheeks. "Iris, please. You have to help me. You were a paralegal. You know these laws! Tell me what to do!"
"Stand up," I repeated, my tone unyielding.
He scrambled to his feet, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, looking like a chastised schoolboy.
"Last night," I said, "you raised a glass in front of thirty people and called me jealous. You ridiculed my grief. You told your colleagues that my brother’s death was an obsession, and that I was pathetic for warning you about a woman who flirted with you over appetizers."
"I was stupid! I was arrogant!" he cried, stepping toward me. "I was drunk on the idea that I was finally successful! Iris, I swear to God, I never touched her! Nothing ever happened between us!"
"I don't care if you slept with her, Damian!" I slammed my hand on the table, the sharp crack making him flinch. "I care that you looked into the eyes of the woman who killed Logan, and you chose her praise over my dignity! You chose a title over my family’s justice!"
"I’m sorry," he whispered, trembling. "I’m so sorry, Iris. What do I do? What can I do?"
"You're going to do exactly what I tell you to do," I said, sliding a manila folder toward the edge of the table. "You still have your personal laptop synced to your Apex cloud backup, don't you?"
Damian blinked. "They... they revoked my company account, but my home drive hasn't synced yet because the Wi-Fi was off."
"Good," I said, standing up and towering over him. "Because Marcus Vance is waiting in his car two blocks away. You are going to pull every unencrypted draft, every metadata timestamp, and every late-night email Maribel ever sent you from her personal server. You are going to prove that she instructed you to sign those permits under false pretenses."
"And if I do?" Damian asked, his voice trembling with faint hope. "Will the charges be dropped?"
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"If you do, you might stay out of federal prison," I replied, my eyes burning into his. "As for us? That conversation happens after Maribel Kane is in handcuffs."
***