Chapter 5 - The Legal BattlefieldTwo weeks later, the reality of rebuilding began with a mountain of paperwork, police reports, and court dates.
Travis was still sitting in the county jail, his bail set at a prohibitive two hundred thousand dollars—an amount his mother couldn't afford without selling her house, which she stubbornly refused to do, finally waking up to the reality of what her son had become.
Derek and I had moved Lena out of the suburban house entirely. We packed up her clothes, her artwork, and her personal belongings in a single afternoon while police officers stood guard in the driveway. She was currently staying in the guest room of my house, sleeping under a roof where she was safe, loved, and protected.
On a crisp Tuesday morning, Derek and I sat across from family attorney Marcus Vance in his sleek downtown office overlooking the Chicago river.
"The criminal case is airtight," Marcus said, tapping a thick manila folder against his desk. "Between the dispatch recording, the medical reports, and the financial audit we ran on Travis’s personal accounts, the District Attorney has offered him a plea deal: five years in state prison with no parole eligibility for the first three. If he takes it, we avoid a messy trial."
"And if he doesn't take it?" Derek asked, leaning forward.
"Then we take it to a jury," Marcus smiled thinly. "And with a jury seeing photos of a pregnant—excuse me, a bruised young woman with a fractured arm and a husband with a history of financial extortion, he’ll get ten years minimum."
"What about the stolen inheritance?" I asked, tapping my fingers on the armrest. "Can we recover the forty-five thousand?"
"We've already frozen all of his active accounts, including his business assets," Marcus replied confidently. "Every dime he stole, plus legal fees and damages, will be seized and returned to Lena before the ink on the divorce decree is even dry."
The door to the conference room opened softly, and Lena walked in. She was wearing a cream-colored sweater, her cast now replaced by a lightweight wrist brace, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She looked healthier, stronger, and more like the daughter I remembered before Travis had slowly crushed her spirit over four years of marriage.
"How did it go?" she asked, taking a seat beside me.
I handed her the folder. "The prosecutor offered him five years. He’s expected to sign the plea deal by Friday."
Lena stared at the paper for a long moment. There were no tears, no hesitation, no sorrow for the man who had nearly killed her. Just a profound, liberating exhale.
"Good," she said softly. "I want it over with. I want to change my last name back to mine, sell that house, and never look back."
"It’s already in motion, sweetheart," Derek said with a reassuring grin. "In fact, I took the liberty of looking at a couple of downtown loft apartments yesterday morning. High ceilings, secure parking, and three blocks from your art studio."
Lena looked up, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across her face—the first real smile I had seen in years. "Uncle Derek... you didn't."
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"I totally did," Derek laughed. "And your dad is paying the down payment as a welcome-home gift."
I nodded, feeling a heavy knot of anxiety finally unraveling in my chest. We were going to win. We had pulled her out of the fire, and no matter what happened next, she was never going to be alone again.
