Chapter 8 - Callan Finally Told the Truth
Callan agreed to cooperate without my guarantee.
He didn’t do it because he suddenly became brave.
He did it because the Harrington empire was collapsing around him.
Lenders froze two projects.
A bank demanded documentation related to the companies carrying my name.
Federal investigators subpoenaed records.
Two business partners filed lawsuits.
The company board placed Charles on temporary leave.
Melissa resigned from three charity boards before they could remove her.
Brooklyn disappeared from social media.
Callan’s misdemeanor assault case was moving forward.
And I filed for annulment based on fraud in addition to divorce.
Nathan explained the difference.
“If the court finds the marriage was induced by material fraud, you may be able to have it treated as legally invalid from the beginning.”
I looked at my wedding ring sitting inside a plastic evidence bag.
“Good.”
The first time I saw Callan after the kitchen incident was in a conference room at the county attorney’s office.
His burns were healing.
A faint pink scar ran from his cheek toward his neck.
Part of me expected satisfaction.
I felt none.
He looked smaller.
Not physically.
Something in his posture had collapsed.
His attorney sat beside him.
Nathan sat beside me.
Two prosecutors and Detective Ortiz sat across from us.
Callan looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
Nathan immediately said, “Direct statements to counsel.”
Callan swallowed.
“I understand.”
The prosecutor began.
“Mr. Harrington, you requested cooperation. Start with the Reed property.”
Callan stared at the table.
“My parents had been trying to acquire it for years.”
“When did you become involved?”
“Before I met Anastasia.”
My chest tightened even though I already knew.
“How long before?”
“About eight months.”
“Why?”
“My mother thought I could get close to the family.”
“Romantically?”
“At first, no.”
I looked at him.
He couldn’t meet my eyes.
“What was the original plan?”
“Become friendly. Learn whether Martin would sell. Find leverage.”
My father.
My family.
My life reduced to leverage.
The prosecutor continued.
“When did it become romantic?”
Callan hesitated.
“After a few months.”
“Did you genuinely develop feelings for Anastasia?”
Nathan glanced at me.
I hated that I still wanted the answer.
“Yes,” Callan whispered.
“How do we distinguish genuine feelings from your assignment?”
“You probably can’t.”
At least he knew.
“Did your parents know you intended to marry her?”
“My mother encouraged it.”
“Why?”
“By then Anastasia had an interest in the family trust.”
“How did Melissa know?”
Callan closed his eyes.
“I told her.”
“Did Anastasia know property acquisition motivated the marriage?”
“No.”
“Did you intend to obtain authority over her trust interest?”
“Yes.”
My breath caught.
There it was.
No excuse.
No ambiguity.
Yes.
The prosecutor slid the management authorization forward.
“Did Anastasia knowingly agree to this?”
“No.”
Nathan’s pen stopped.
The room felt silent.
“How was her signature obtained?”
“We presented it electronically with other documents.”
“Did she have independent counsel?”
“No.”
“Was the notary legitimate?”
“No.”
“Who created the false notarization?”
Callan looked toward his lawyer.
The lawyer whispered something.
Then Callan answered.
“Warren Bell arranged it.”
His own attorney’s name.
The man beside Callan froze.
Different attorney now.
Warren had withdrawn two days earlier.
The prosecutor continued.
“Did Mr. Bell know Anastasia had not agreed?”
“Yes.”
Another piece collapsed.
“Why were companies placed in her name?”
Callan’s face tightened.
“Debt.”
“Explain.”
“Harrington Development was overleveraged. Some lenders were asking questions. New entities were created.”
“With Anastasia as member?”
“Yes.”
“Without her knowledge?”
“Yes.”
“Were financial statements falsified?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“How many transactions?”
“I don’t know.”
“Estimate.”
“Maybe twelve.”
Priya had found seven.
There were more.
The prosecutor asked about Evelyn.
Callan admitted the same pattern had been used with her.
Not identical.
But close.
When Evelyn challenged them, Melissa negotiated the settlement.
Charles cleaned up corporate filings.
Callan promised to never do it again.
Then he met me.
The prosecutor leaned forward.
“Let’s discuss Daniel Price.”
Callan’s hands tightened.
“I wasn’t involved.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“What did your parents tell you?”
“Nothing directly.”
“Indirectly?”
Callan stared toward the window.
“When I was nineteen, I heard them arguing.”
“About?”
“A man named Daniel.”
“What was said?”
“My mother said Dad should have handled it differently.”
“What did Charles say?”
Callan swallowed.
“That Daniel made his own choice.”
“What choice?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anything else?”
Long silence.
Then:
“My father said, ‘I only told Robert to scare him.’”
Detective Ortiz’s eyes sharpened.
Robert Sloan.
Derek’s father.
The old security contractor.
“What did Melissa say?”
“She said, ‘Then why did you pay him after the funeral?’”
Nobody moved.
The prosecutor repeated slowly.
“Your mother said your father paid Robert Sloan after Daniel Price’s funeral?”
“Yes.”
The room changed.
This was no longer vague.
Not proof of murder.
But specific.
Investigators could trace money.
Nathan whispered to me, “This is bigger than us now.”
I knew.
After nearly three hours, the prosecutor paused the interview.
Callan asked for five minutes with me.
Nathan refused.
I surprised him.
“One minute.”
“Anastasia.”
“With everyone here.”
Callan turned toward me.
His eyes were red.
“I didn’t plan to hurt you.”
I almost laughed.
“You planned to use me.”
“Yes.”
“You lied for three years.”
“Yes.”
“You let your sister humiliate me.”
“Yes.”
“You hit me.”
His face twisted.
“I know.”
“You told them the camera was broken?”
“No.”
“Did you know your mother deleted footage?”
“Afterward.”
“Did you help her?”
He hesitated.
That was answer enough.
“How?”
“I told police you had been angry earlier.”
I stared at him.
He had watched me leave in handcuffs.
Knowing I hadn’t attacked him the way his family claimed.
“Why?”
He started crying.
Actually crying.
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
“I thought if the property deal failed, Dad would destroy me.”
That sentence finally showed me who Callan was.
Not a monster.
Not entirely.
Something weaker.
A grown man who had spent his whole life confusing fear with obedience.
But weakness can destroy people too.
“You should have been more afraid of becoming him,” I said.
He looked down.
I stood.
He called my name.
“Anastasia.”
I stopped.
“I did love you.”
For months, that sentence would have shattered me.
Now it only made me tired.
I turned back.
“Maybe you did.”
He looked hopeful.
Then I finished.
“But you loved being a Harrington more.”
I walked out.
That evening, investigators received bank records.
Seventeen years earlier, Charles Harrington had withdrawn $75,000 in cash from a company account two days after Daniel Price’s funeral.
Three days later, Robert Sloan deposited $60,000 into a business account.
The remaining fifteen thousand had no obvious trail.
Police reopened Daniel’s death as a suspicious case.
Robert Sloan had died six years earlier.
But Derek was alive.
When investigators questioned him about his father, Derek finally broke.
He remembered his father drinking heavily after Daniel’s death.
He remembered one sentence.
“I was only supposed to scare him.”
Exactly what Charles had said.
Then Derek admitted something else.
His father had kept old records.
A storage unit in Glendale.
Nobody had opened it since Robert died.
Police obtained a warrant.
Inside were boxes of security logs, payment records, photographs, and one small cassette recorder.
The recording quality was terrible.
But two voices could be heard.
Robert Sloan.
Charles Harrington.
Charles: Make sure Price understands the next warning won’t be polite.
Robert: I’ll scare him. That’s it.
Charles: I don’t care how. I need that property.
The recording stopped.
Daniel died four days later.
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And suddenly Charles Harrington was no longer only a wealthy businessman facing fraud allegations.
He was a man law enforcement wanted to question about a death.
