Chapter 20 - Andre Without Rescue
Andre’s case took longer.
He wanted certainty.
The law offered none.
He wanted Nia to write a letter asking prosecutors for leniency.
She refused at first.
Then he asked differently.
“Not to excuse me.”
They sat in a diner.
“What would you say?”
“That I’m trying.”
Nia stirred coffee.
“Are you?”
“I’m in therapy.”
“Good.”
“I sold the boat.”
“You had a boat?”
Andre winced.
“Had.”
“What else?”
“Truck.”
“Harbor Point?”
“Dissolved.”
“That doesn’t repay workers.”
“No.”
He pushed a folder across the table.
“I’m liquidating investment accounts.”
Nia opened it.
Restitution plan.
He had already paid $61,000 into counsel’s trust account for eventual restitution.
Nia looked at him.
“This is real?”
“Yes.”
“Mom didn’t arrange it?”
His face tightened.
“No.”
“Good.”
Andre nodded.
“I keep waiting for someone to tell me what to do.”
“That’s the problem.”
“I know.”
Nia studied him.
Without Denise, Andre looked younger.
Less polished.
More frightened.
Maybe adulthood was beginning fifteen years late.
He said:
“Dad would hate me.”
Nia shook her head.
“Stop.”
“It’s true.”
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
“Neither do you.”
He stared.
Nia continued:
“You keep using dead people to punish yourself because punishment feels easier than change.”
Andre blinked.
“That sounded like therapy.”
“I’m surrounded by lawyers now. I steal phrases.”
He smiled faintly.
Then Nia’s expression softened.
“Dad was angry at what you did.”
Andre looked down.
“That’s not the same as hating you.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“I told him he loved you more.”
“I know.”
“I meant it.”
Nia swallowed.
“He did trust me more.”
Andre looked up.
“That hurts.”
“I know.”
“But maybe because I hadn’t stolen three hundred thousand dollars.”
Andre laughed through tears.
“Fair.”
They sat quietly.
Finally Nia said:
“I’ll write the letter.”
Hope entered his face.
“I’ll tell the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That you harmed people.”
His hope dimmed.
“That you lied.”
He nodded.
“That you’re paying restitution.”
Another nod.
“That you’re cooperating.”
“Yes.”
“And that I believe accountability gives you a better chance of becoming decent than rescue ever did.”
Andre cried.
“Okay.”
A week later, Nia submitted the letter.
Andre eventually accepted a plea involving theft and falsification charges.
His sentence included a period of incarceration shorter than prosecutors initially sought, followed by supervised release, restitution and prohibition from managing fiduciary funds for several years.
Denise received home detention, probation and restitution obligations.
Different conduct.
Different roles.
Different consequences.
Neither ending felt satisfying.
That was how Nia knew it was real.
Justice rarely sounded like applause.
Meanwhile, Carter Community Services faced its own survival test.
Without Denise or Andre in operational control, Nia became interim majority owner.
Employees expected her to fix everything.
She refused the title of president.
Instead she hired outside management.
“You’re giving away control?” Renee asked.
“No.”
Nia shook her head.
“I’m separating ownership from competence.”
Renee smiled.
“Lillian would like that.”
“I hope so.”
The company repaid wage shortages with interest through a supervised plan.
Two county contracts were lost.
One was retained.
Twenty-three administrative positions were cut or reorganized.
No direct-care workers were terminated.
Nia took no distribution for the first year.
She sold unused company property to cover debt.
Then came the house loan.
Chesapeake Federal completed its investigation.
The bank acknowledged irregularities in the use of the power of attorney and failures during underwriting.
After negotiations, the loan was rescinded as to Nia, with the bank pursuing recovery through restitution and other parties.
Nia read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
Her house was free.
She ran upstairs.
Micah was building blocks.
“Baby.”
He looked up.
“This house is ours.”
He frowned.
“It was already ours.”
Nia laughed and cried simultaneously.
“You’re right.”
Micah looked concerned.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
He studied her.
“Did you eat?”
Nia burst out laughing.
Micah did too, though he did not know why.
She grabbed him and spun him once.
He squealed.
Then he put both hands on her cheeks.
“Mommy.”
“Yes?”
“You’re crying.”
“Happy crying.”
“That’s weird.”
“It is.”
He hugged her.
Nia held him tightly.
Downstairs, someone knocked.
Not Denise.
Marcus.
He stood holding takeout.
“Celebration dinner.”
“How did you know?”
“Evelyn called.”
Nia raised an eyebrow.
“Why does my lawyer call you?”
“She likes me.”
“No one likes you.”
“That’s cruel.”
Micah shouted:
“Dad brought food!”
Marcus held up the bags.
“See? I’m beloved.”
Nia stepped aside.
For the first time in years, when Marcus entered the house, it did not feel like returning to a crime scene.
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It felt like entering a future that had not yet decided its shape.
And Nia was finally willing to let time answer honestly.
