Dana Changed Her Story When The Loan File Was Opened

The message did not say, Forge my wife's name.

Lena made that clear before I could turn it into more than it was.

"He can argue he meant a reference," she said. "But it places your genuine signature in their hands. And it conflicts with Dana saying you came in."

I had kept my copy of the mortgage packet. Malcolm had kept an electronic copy, too. He had used his copy as a tool. I had kept mine intact.

Dana's deposition took place in a conference room with a water cooler that clicked every few minutes.

I sat beside Lena. Dana sat across from us with her own lawyer. A court reporter asked everyone to speak one at a time.

Malcolm was not in the room.

At first, Dana said she remembered me clearly.

"She wore a blue dress," she said.

I looked down at my hands. Blue was easy. Half my work clothes were blue because white lint showed on black.

Lena asked Dana to read the time on her sworn statement.

"Two fifteen."

Then she showed Dana the card receipt, the photographs, and the loan officer's note.

"Did you watch Arielle Winbush sign this guarantee?"

Dana asked to speak privately with her lawyer.

We went into the hall while they stayed inside.

I pressed a pearl button between my finger and thumb. I had carried it so long that the little chip at one hole felt familiar.

"Can she just change her answer?" I asked.

"She can correct an answer," Lena said. "The first one doesn't disappear."

When we returned, Dana's voice was lower.

"I didn't see the pen touch the paper."

"Were you in a room with my client that day?"

"No."

The court reporter's hands kept moving.

Lena asked about the visitor sheet.

"I made it later," Dana said.

"How much later?"

"After the dispute started. Malcolm told me to put together a record."

"Was it a record of something you saw?"

"No."

My legs started shaking under the table. I planted both feet flat and watched a drop of water slide down my untouched glass.

Dana also admitted preparing the $18,000 invoice on her office computer. Malcolm had given her the amount and the description.

"Did Winbush Bridal Alterations provide those services?" Lena asked.

"I don't know."

"Did you contact the studio to find out?"

"No."

"You worked there?"

"No."

She had known enough to make a bill with my business name. She had not known the right suite number.

Her lawyer stopped several questions that touched on possible criminal conduct. Lena did not argue with him. There was already enough on the record to ask the next useful question.

"Did you live at Juniper Court with Malcolm Holloway?"

"Yes."

"Was that apartment primarily a business office?"

Dana stared at the lease.

"No. We lived there."

I had expected that answer to feel like another cut. Instead, I felt tired in a plain, heavy way. The question that had kept me awake finally had an answer nobody could dress up.

Afterward, Dana approached me near the elevator.

"He said you knew about the money."

"You just admitted making a visitor sheet after I challenged him."

She looked at the floor.

"I was scared."

"So was I."

The elevator arrived. I stepped inside with Lena.

On the way down, I watched the floor numbers change. I had spent months wanting Dana to explain how she could sit in my studio and watch me repair his jacket. Her answers had helped the case. They could not make that afternoon kind.

Celeste finished her report that week. Every claimed loss had a source page. Every total could be checked. The report separated the $46,700 taken from savings from the $22,800 spent on the apartment, so no dollar appeared twice.

The $28,900 still in Malcolm's hidden account was restrained by court order. The rest of the missing savings, $17,800, had gone into the company. We still needed a lawful way to recover it.

"Money located isn't always money returned," Celeste reminded me.

Dry Creek's lawyer asked for settlement discussions. Its review had found problems with Malcolm's equipment reports as well as my guarantee. The lender wanted its leased machines accounted for.

Malcolm's lawyer sent a proposal that same afternoon.

He offered me $20,000 and wanted me to sign a statement saying there had been a misunderstanding about household authorization.

"No," I told Lena. "I can settle a claim. I won't certify a lie."

She sent back revised terms with no false statement.

At closing time, a courier brought an envelope to my studio. Malcolm had rejected the terms and demanded an evidentiary hearing.

On top of the papers was a handwritten note: Tell them how I supported you.