But now that I had, I could not stop.
“You blamed a dead man.”
“He was responsible for the equipment.”
“He told you to shut it down.”
“Claire—”
“He died trying to get me out.”
“Stop.”
The word came from Victor.
Not Gerald.
Not the judge.
Victor.
For the first time that day, he sounded frightened.
Judge Monroe said, “Mrs. Hale, allow your counsel to continue.”
I sat.
My legs trembled beneath the table.
Grace leaned down.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Sure?”
I looked across at Victor.
“Yes.”
I had spent twenty years being afraid of what would happen if I pushed too hard.
It was strangely freeing to discover the thing I had feared was smaller than the truth.
Grace introduced insurance claims.
Workers’ compensation records.
Payroll.
Or rather, the absence of payroll.
For years, Victor had classified me however it benefited him.
When applying for loans, I was a co-founder.
