“What… what kind of charges?” My voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else.
“Attempted murder, assault causing bodily harm, breaking and entering, criminal harassment, and jury tampering.” She paused. “The recording you managed to get is damning, Alex. His confession to paying off jurors is clear as day.”
I closed my eyes, remembering Marcus’s face as he’d crashed through the door, the smell of expensive scotch on his breath, his fingers digging into my throat.
“What happens next?” I asked.
“He’ll be arrested again, likely within the hour. Given the severity of the charges and the evidence of flight risk and witness tampering, Chang will request remand—meaning no bail this time.”
“Can they really hold him? He has so much money, so many connections.”
Helena’s voice softened slightly. “This isn’t the civil system anymore, Alex. This is criminal court. Different rules, different standards of proof. And that recording changes everything.”
I ran my fingers over the bruises on my neck. “He’ll have expensive lawyers.”
“And we have his voice admitting to paying fifty thousand dollars to jurors. We have your injuries documented by medical professionals. We have the broken door at the motel, his fingerprints on your neck.” She paused. “I’ve been doing this job for ten years. This case is one of the most solid I’ve seen.”
I wanted to believe her. I desperately wanted to believe her.
“Can I walk you through what’s going to happen?” she asked when I didn’t respond.
“Please.”
“First, the arrest. Then an arraignment where the charges are formally presented. Chang will request remand, and given the circumstances, she’ll likely get it. After that, disclosure—where his defence team gets all our evidence. There might be a preliminary hearing to determine if there’s enough evidence to proceed to trial.”
“And if there is?” I asked.
“Then trial. But Alex, most cases like this don’t go to trial. When the evidence is this strong, defence usually seeks a plea deal.”
I laughed bitterly. “Marcus would never plead guilty to anything. His image means everything to him.”
“Which is exactly why he might. A trial means public records, media coverage, all those text messages and that recording played in open court. A plea deal offers him some control over the narrative.”
I hadn’t considered that. The Marcus I knew would do anything to protect his reputation.
“How long will all this take?”
“At least a month, at minimum. The criminal justice system moves slowly. But the protective order is in place now, and he’ll likely be in custody until trial.”
A month of safety. The concept felt foreign, almost unimaginable.
“I want you to know something,” Helena continued. “I’ve seen too many cases where wealth and connections let people like Marcus walk away. I won’t let that happen here.”
The conviction in her voice made my eyes sting. “Why? Why do you care so much?”
There was a pause. “Because I’ve been where you are. Different circumstances, different abuser, but the same fear. The same feeling that the system is stacked against you.”
The admission stunned me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s why I became a detective. And it’s why I’m going to make sure Marcus Delaney faces consequences, no matter how expensive his suits are.”
For the first time since the attack, I felt something unfamiliar bloom in my chest. Not just relief or temporary safety, but something stronger. Hope, maybe. Or the first fragile seedling of justice.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“I’ll call when he’s in custody. And Alex? You did something incredibly brave, keeping that phone line open. You’ve given us everything we need.”
After we hung up, I stared at the blank page in my sketchbook. Then, slowly, I picked up my pencil and began to draw. Not Marcus. Not the motel room. But the Toronto skyline as seen from Damian’s garden—solid, enduring, with light breaking through storm clouds.
