Chapter 22 - The Begging
Back in the courthouse deposition room, Grant was completely broken. With his lawyer gone and the video evidence of his horrific abuse ringing in his ears, the reality of his impending imprisonment finally crashed through his thick skull.
He fell to his knees on the carpeted floor of the conference room. He actually crawled toward my chair, tears streaming down his face, leaving wet tracks through his expensive cologne.
"Evelyn, please," Grant sobbed, grabbing the edge of my skirt. "Please don't send me to prison. I was sick! Vanessa manipulated me! She was giving me pills, she was twisting my mind! I love Lily! I love you! I'll sign whatever you want, just please don't give that video to the police!"
I looked down at the pathetic, sniveling creature on the floor. For a fleeting second, I remembered the man I thought I had married—the charming, ambitious man who had promised to protect us. That man was an illusion. The reality was the coward begging at my feet.
I calmly stood up, violently kicking my leg back so his hands slipped off my skirt.
"Do not ever touch me again," I whispered, stepping over him. "You didn't protect her, Grant. You watched a monster torture your own blood, and you poured yourself a drink. You are not a father. You are a parasite."
I walked to the door, placing my hand on the brass handle.
"If you do this, I will have nothing!" Grant screamed from the floor, his voice echoing with absolute despair. "I will be ruined!"
"You were ruined the moment you let that woman put her shoe on my daughter's hand," I replied, not looking back. "The only difference is that now, the rest of the world knows it."
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I opened the door and walked out into the busy courthouse hallway. Two Denver police detectives were waiting by the elevators. I nodded to them, and they immediately bypassed me, walking briskly into Conference Room B.
Seconds later, I heard the satisfying sound of Grant Carlisle being read his Miranda rights. The trash had finally been taken out.
