Chapter 9 - The Reckoning
Over the next six months, the empire of illusions that Richard Collins had built crumbled with agonizing finality.
The forensic audit that Michael initiated revealed a labyrinth of deceit that spanned nearly a decade. Richard had used check-kiting schemes between shell accounts, borrowed from high-interest private lenders to pay minimums on corporate cards, and fraudulently listed my employment assets to secure commercial financing.
When the King County prosecutor presented the evidence, Richard had no leverage left. Julian Vance, realizing Richard was broke, cooperated fully with authorities to avoid being implicated in the racketeering charges.
Richard took a plea deal: five years at the Stafford Creek Corrections Center for grand larceny, identity theft, and corporate fraud, along with a mandatory restitution order.
He tried to write to me three times from county jail before his transfer.
The first letter was angry, accusing me of betraying my blood and claiming I had ruined my mother’s twilight years. I burned it in our apartment fireplace without reading past the first page.
The second letter was pleading, asking me to speak to the sentencing judge on his behalf, reminding me of how he used to carry me on his shoulders at the state fair when I was six. I recycled it.
The third letter arrived two days before Michael and I were scheduled to walk down the aisle.
It was written on cheap, lined prison stationery:
“Nancy. I don't know who I became. Somewhere along the line, the fear of failing in front of everyone made me into someone I hated. I thought if I could just pull off one more big deal, I could fix it all and pay you back before you noticed. I know saying I’m sorry doesn't pay back the three hundred thousand dollars or erase the bruise I put on your face. You don't have to forgive me. Just know that when you walk down that aisle, I know you’re walking toward a better man than I ever was.”
May you like
I folded the letter and put it away in a keepsake box. I didn't feel rage anymore. I didn't feel hatred. I felt an immense, freeing lightness, like a diver finally breaking through the surface of the ocean after holding her breath in the dark for seven years.
The legal system worked as it should. The restitution orders attached to Richard’s hidden offshore accounts—which the forensic team successfully uncovered—eventually recovered nearly one hundred and eighty thousand dollars of my stolen savings. The rest was gone, swallowed by bad investments and high-roller delusions, but my credit was cleared, and my name was wiped clean of every fraudulent debt.
