Chapter 13 - The Man Who Thought He Could Buy the Judge
By the time the criminal investigation became public, Jason had stopped pretending our divorce was an ordinary disagreement between two people who no longer loved each other.
His company issued a statement.
It described him as a respected business leader.
It called the allegations unproven.
It pledged cooperation with legitimate inquiries.
His attorneys reminded reporters that accusations were not convictions.
On that point, they were right.
I didn't want Jason convicted because people disliked him.
I wanted the evidence examined fairly.
Because if the evidence couldn't survive scrutiny, the truth would remain vulnerable to the same manipulation that had protected him for years.
The investigation into Eleanor's death moved separately from our divorce.
Authorities reviewed the original collision report, interviewed witnesses, and examined records concerning the vehicle assigned to follow her.
The existence of that surveillance assignment didn't automatically establish that someone caused the crash.
Investigators still had to determine what happened on the highway.
The distinction mattered.
I had learned to hate certainty unsupported by evidence.
Jason had used that kind of certainty to control my life.
He told people I was unstable.
He told doctors I fell.
He told investors I retired voluntarily.
He told Madison I was a cruel wife who refused to let him go.
Every lie became stronger when repeated by someone confident enough.
I refused to answer him with a different kind of lie.
But as the evidence accumulated, Jason's situation grew more precarious.
Several executives were questioned.
Corporate records were preserved.
The company's board retained outside counsel and independent investigators.
A special committee began reviewing compliance failures and disputed governance decisions.
Jason initially announced he was taking a temporary leave.
Then the board suspended certain executive authorities pending further review.
He threatened to sue them.
For the first time, they didn't retreat.
I learned about the suspension from Laura Chen.
She called me on a rainy Wednesday afternoon.
"I never thought I'd see this happen," she said.
I sat at my kitchen table.
"Neither did I."
"People are talking about the testing records."
"What are they saying?"
"Some are shocked."
"Some are pretending they never knew anything."
"And some are finally admitting they raised concerns years ago."
I closed my eyes.
"Do you think the company can survive?"
Laura hesitated.
"I don't know."
The answer hurt.
Despite everything Jason had done, Mitchell Medical Technologies employed hundreds of people.
Many were honest.
Many cared deeply about patients.
Some had joined because they believed in the same mission I believed in.
I didn't want them punished for Jason's decisions.
"I want the dangerous products reviewed," I said.
"Of course."
"And I want employees protected as much as possible."
Laura sighed.
"That's what Eleanor wanted, too."
After the call, I sat quietly for a long time.
Then I opened the old engineering notebook Sophie had helped recover.
On the first page, written in my own handwriting, was a sentence.
The patient must always matter more than the product.
I remembered writing it during the company's first year.
Jason had laughed.
He called it sentimental.
He said investors cared about market share and revenue.
I told him patients cared whether our devices worked.
For a while, I thought we were simply balancing different priorities.
Now I understood how far apart our values had always been.
The next major divorce hearing occurred six weeks after the first.
Judge Holloway had reviewed substantial briefing concerning the disputed transfers.
The court-appointed financial expert had provided an interim report.
Document examiners had identified material concerns about several signatures, though their work was not complete.
There were also new records concerning Jason's ability to access and transfer certain assets.
When I entered the courtroom, I wore a simple dark blue dress with short sleeves.
My scars were visible.
I no longer felt obligated to display them.
I no longer felt obligated to hide them, either.
They were part of my body.
Not an argument.
Not an apology.
Jason sat beside his new attorneys.
He looked older.
His hair was still perfectly combed, but his face had changed.
The confidence that once filled every room had hardened into suspicion.
His eyes followed me as I passed.
Madison was nowhere in sight.
Judge Holloway began by addressing outstanding disclosure issues.
Several account records remained incomplete.
Certain requested corporate documents had been produced only after repeated objections.
The judge was plainly dissatisfied.
"Mr. Mitchell's obligations in this proceeding are not optional," she said.
Jason's attorney stood.
"Your Honor, our client has made substantial good-faith efforts."
"Then those efforts need to result in full compliance."
The attorney sat.
Daniel presented a timeline showing transfers before and after the separation.
He carefully distinguished transactions already documented from those still under investigation.
He explained why some could materially affect the characterization or value of marital assets.
The judge asked questions.
Daniel answered.
Jason's attorneys challenged several assumptions.
That was expected.
Then they introduced a declaration alleging that I had knowingly approved certain corporate reorganizations.
Daniel requested permission to address a specific inconsistency.
The judge allowed it.
He showed the court a document that purported to record my participation in a board meeting.
The meeting was dated June 12.
My name appeared among the attendees.
Daniel then introduced hospital records establishing that on June 12, I was in intensive care, receiving treatment for serious injuries.
The courtroom fell silent.
Jason's lead attorney looked at the document.
Judge Holloway turned toward him.
"Can you explain the discrepancy?"
"Your Honor, we need an opportunity to verify the underlying records."
"Certainly."
Her voice was controlled.
"But I expect you to investigate whether the evidence you have submitted is accurate."
Jason shifted in his seat.
For the first time, the legal paperwork itself was speaking against him.
He had once told me I would be begging in the streets.
Now his lawyers were struggling to explain how I supposedly attended business meetings while critically injured in a hospital.
During a break, a court officer approached Daniel.
He spoke quietly.
Daniel's expression changed.
"What happened?" I asked when the officer left.
"Someone has attempted to contact the court improperly."
My stomach tightened.
"Jason?"
"We don't know who initiated it."
"What kind of contact?"
"An unsolicited communication concerning the case."
Daniel looked serious.
"The court is handling it through appropriate procedures."
I stared toward Jason's table.
He was speaking to an associate in the gallery.
"Do you think he tried to influence the judge?"
"I'm not going to speculate."
Daniel lowered his voice.
"But the court is treating the matter carefully."
Later, Judge Holloway disclosed on the record that an improper communication had been brought to the court's attention.
She stated that it would not influence her decisions and allowed counsel to address any necessary procedural issues.
Jason's new attorney looked uncomfortable.
I couldn't tell whether he knew anything about it.
And I wasn't going to invent a connection simply because Jason had lied before.
But watching the judge handle the matter openly reminded me that institutions could resist pressure.
Not perfectly.
Not always.
But sometimes, people did their jobs.
At the end of the hearing, Judge Holloway issued additional directions for tracing assets and evaluating disputed ownership rights.
She also warned that failures to comply with disclosure obligations could result in further remedies.
The proceedings were far from over.
But Jason's original claim—that he simply owned everything and could leave me destitute—was no longer remotely secure.
Outside the courthouse, a reporter called my name.
"Mrs. Mitchell, do you have a message for your husband?"
I stopped.
Daniel looked at me.
I could have said many things.
I could have repeated Jason's threats.
I could have described the injuries.
I could have told the cameras how much I hated him.
Instead, I said, "I want the truth established through evidence."
The reporter asked another question.
"Are you trying to take his company?"
I looked toward the courthouse.
"I helped build that company."
"And I want the people affected by its decisions to receive truthful answers."
Then I walked away.
That night, Sophie called.
Her voice sounded strained.
"Iris, I need to tell you something."
"What happened?"
"I've been thinking about the photograph that was sent to you."
"The one showing Eleanor alive?"
"Yes."
I sat upright.
"Do you know where it came from?"
"I think so."
My heart raced.
"Was it real?"
"The image may be real."
"But not the date."
I closed my eyes.
Sophie continued.
"My mother wore that green coat during a research trip several months before she died."
"I found another photograph from the same day."
"Then who changed the date?"
"I don't know."
I leaned back.
Someone had sent me manipulated evidence.
Evidence designed to make me question everything.
"Why would someone do that?" I whispered.
Sophie hesitated.
"Maybe to frighten you."
"Maybe to make you look unreliable if you repeated it publicly."
I felt sick.
That was exactly the kind of trap Jason used.
Present something shocking.
Wait for me to react.
Then use my reaction as proof that I couldn't be trusted.
But this time, I'd reported the message without claiming it was authentic.
I had learned.
Sophie continued.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"I've reviewed the old archive from Bellweather with investigators."
"And?"
"The records suggest several people had access to information about you."
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
"I don't know all their names."
"But one person accessed reports shortly before the divorce."
I stared at the wall.
"Jason?"
"No."
I swallowed.
"Who?"
Sophie answered carefully.
"Someone using credentials associated with Northbridge Clinical Advisors."
Madison's company.
I closed my eyes.
"Madison?"
"Investigators haven't established who used the credentials."
I nodded slowly.
Another unanswered question.
Another reason not to jump to conclusions.
Then Sophie said something I hadn't expected.
"Madison asked to speak with me."
My eyes opened.
"Why?"
"She says she has information about the night Jason ordered the destruction of several old records."
I gripped the phone.
"Has she talked to investigators?"
"Yes."
"Then why does she need you?"
Sophie was quiet for a moment.
"Because she found something belonging to Eleanor."
My throat tightened.
"What?"
"A handwritten letter."
"To whom?"
"To you."
I stared ahead.
"Another letter?"
"Yes."
May you like
Sophie took a breath.
"And this one explains why Eleanor kept a second copy of your original patent documents."
