Dead Wife Walking Chapter 09

Dead Wife Walking Chapter 09

The trial began three weeks later.

Serena’s legal team was aggressive, well-funded – bankrolled, as it turned out, by a rival family that had been waiting for years to dismantle the Blackwell empire. They didn’t just defend Serena; they attacked Ethan. And by extension, they attacked me.

Their strategy was simple: paint me as the villain. The scheming contract wife who fabricated evidence against Serena out of jealousy. The unstable cancer patient whose judgment couldn’t be trusted.

I sat in the courtroom – invisible, irrelevant, and absolutely furious.

Serena took the stand looking like a wounded angel. Hair perfectly styled. Minimal makeup. A cream-colored blouse buttoned to the throat. Her lawyers

had coached her well.

“Mrs. Blackwell was troubled,” Serena said, dabbing at dry eyes with a tissue. “I tried to befriend her, but she was obsessed with the idea that Ethan and I were having an affair. She became paranoid. Aggressive, even.”

The defense attorney nodded sympathetically. “And these documents she allegedly compiled against you – is it possible they were fabricated?”

“I believe so. She had access to the household computers. She could have manipulated-”

“Objection.” Ethan’s lawyer stood. “The forensic analysis of the documents

has already been authenticated by three independent firms.”

“Sustained,” the judge said. “Ms. Lane, please stick to your personal

testimony.”

But the damage was done. The seed of doubt had been planted. I could see it in the jury’s faces – that flicker of uncertainty. *What if the dead woman was

the crazy one?*

I clenched my fists. ‘You conniving-‘

Then Mark took the stand.

Quiet, methodical Mark. He presented the timeline he’d built using my

evidence as a foundation, corroborated by bank records, email metadata, and

testimony from three Foundation employees who had noticed discrepancies

but were too afraid to report them.

When the defense attorney tried to discredit him, Mark simply said, “I’m

presenting facts. If you’d like to argue with arithmetic, be my guest.”

I almost laughed. ‘I always liked you, Mark.’

But the moment that turned the trial was Ethan’s testimony.

He hadn’t been required to testify. His lawyers had strongly advised against

But he insisted.
He took the stand looking like a man who hadn’t slept in weeks – because

he hadn’t. His suit still fit perfectly, but the man inside it had shrunk. There

were shadows under his eyes deep enough to drown in.

“Mr. Blackwell,” the prosecutor began, “can you describe your relationship

with the deceased, Vivian Blackwell?”

He was silent for a long moment. Then: “She was my wife. And I failed her in

every way a husband can fail.”

The courtroom stirred. His own lawyers winced.

“Can you elaborate?”

“She was dying of cancer for eighteen months. I didn’t know. I didn’t know

because I never asked how she was. I never ate the meals she cooked. I never

read her messages. I never came home.” His voice was steady, but his hands,

resting on the witness stand, were trembling. “She tried to tell me she was sick

eleven times. I ignored her eleven times. She discovered that Serena Lane was

stealing from my Foundation, and when she tried to report it, I shut down the

investigation myself – because Serena told me to, and I believed Serena over

my own wife.”

A murmur rippled through the courtroom.

“Mr. Blackwell, are you saying you were aware of the anonymous complaint filed with the auditors?”

“I was informed there was a complaint. Serena characterized it as a personal attack. I didn’t investigate further. I called the auditors and told them to drop it.” He paused. “The complaint was from Vivian. I found that out after

her death.”

Serena’s composure cracked. She whispered something to her lawyer, who shook his head urgently.

The prosecutor pressed on. “And the recordings on the USB drive – were you aware of Ms. Lane’s statements regarding your wife?”

“No. I heard them for the first time the night of Vivian’s funeral.” His jaw tightened. “If I had heard them sooner…”

“What would you have done?”

Another long silence. Then: “I don’t know. And that’s the honest answer. I’d like to say I would have defended my wife. But given my track record, I’m not sure I would have. And that’s something I have to live with.”

The courtroom went dead silent.

I stared at him from the gallery. That was the most honest thing he’d ever

said.

His lawyer was visibly sweating. This testimony was a catastrophe for

Ethan’s public image – a CEO admitting, under oath, that he was a negligent

husband who enabled his mistress to steal millions.

But Ethan didn’t care about his image anymore.

He looked directly at the jury. “Vivian Blackwell spent the last months of her life compiling evidence to protect a Foundation she had no obligation to

protect. She did it while undergoing chemotherapy she couldn’t afford. She did it while living in a room with a mattress so thin you could feel the bed frame. She did it while I was buying jewelry for the woman who was robbing us both.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out my journal. “This was hers. In it, she wrote that she hoped I’d become the man she believed I could be.” He set it on the witness stand. “I’m not that man yet. But I owe it to her to try.”

Serena was convicted on all charges. Twelve counts of fraud,

embezzlement, and breach of fiduciary duty. The judge sentenced her to nine

years.

As they led her away, she turned and locked eyes with Ethan. “You’ll regret this,” she hissed. “She’s dead. I’m real. And you chose a ghost over me.”

He didn’t blink. “She was more real than you ever were.”

I stood in the aisle of the emptying courtroom, watching him sit alone at the

witness stand long after everyone else had left.

‘That was the right thing to do, Ethan, I admitted silently. ‘But it doesn’t erase

anything.’

He seemed to hear me – or maybe he was just talking to the empty room,

as he’d taken to doing.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know it doesn’t.”