David woke at five, and I got up and stood by his bed. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” I told him. “Some lawyers are coming to take your deposition. They’re going to ask you about the money and that stack of résumés, and you’re going to tell the truth.”

He nodded.

“You’ll have to stay here a few days. But then you have a choice. You can go into rehab—a good one—and I’ll pay for it.”

“How?”

“I have fifty thousand dollars, free and clear.”

His eyes opened wide.

“If you decide on rehab and complete the program successfully, then we’ll find a place together and do our best to work on our marriage. Or—”

He watched me carefully.

“—you can sign the divorce papers my lawyer’s bringing over and I’ll give you the cash. Fifty thousand. Free and clear.”

His eyes fell shut, and his chest rose up and down for a long moment. He turned his face away before he spoke. “I’ll take the cash,” he said.

I nodded. “Deal.”

DEV ARRIVED WITH a woman from the DA’s office. Riley knew her, and the two of them went into a huddle in the corridor while the court reporter set up her machine and Dev went over the proceedings with David. Then Riley and the ADA joined us, and David raised his right hand and told everything that happened the morning of February 2. That there was a knock on our apartment door, and a tall Black man came in holding thirty thousand dollars in cash in one hand and a stack of documents in the other. That there was a second knock later that morning when the police arrived with the search team. And finally that he, David, opened a drawer and told them, Here. Take a look at this.

“No further questions,” Dev said.

“Nothing from the state,” said the ADA, and it was over.

After the others were gone, Dev brought out the divorce papers. David had to sign his own name this time. He managed, and with that stroke of a pen, our marriage was over, too.

IT WAS NEARLY seven when I left the room, and Detective Riley was still in the corridor. “Don’t you have any other cases?” I said.

“As a matter of fact, no.” He turned and walked with me to the elevator. “This is my last one.”

“You’re retiring?”

His mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile. “More accurate to say I’m being retired.”

“Oh.”

“It was supposed to happen a month ago. I lobbied for an extension so I could finish this case.”

“What’s left to do?”

“I have to fall on my sword.”

I gave him a puzzled look as the elevator doors opened. The car was packed, and we rode in silence to the ground floor. But the moment we were alone again and heading for the exit, I said, “What do you mean?”

“My final act will be to write up a CYA for the DA. Admit that we made a mistake when we charged you. With enough mea culpas so the DA can dismiss the charges without getting any egg on his face.”