Chapter 29 Testimony Prep

Chapter 29 Testimony Prep
Morgana POV

The conference room at the DA's office smelled like burnt coffee and the recycled air of windowless spaces. Assistant DA Anthonia Glenn sat across from me, case files spread between us like evidence of my own stupidity. Behind her, Officer Ramirez stood by the door, his presence a constant reminder that I needed protection from a man I'd let into every part of my life.

"Let's start with the first time you noticed something was wrong." Anthonia's voice was gentle but her eyes were sharp. She'd prosecuted serial predators before. She knew what she was looking at. "Walk me through what you observed."

I wrapped my hands around a paper cup of tea that had gone cold an hour ago. "The security logs. My badge showed building access when I was out of town. I thought it was a system error."

"But you didn't report it."

"No." My voice came out small. "David said it was probably a glitch. He offered to look into it."

Anthonia made a note. "And you believed him."

"I trusted him." The words tasted like ash. "He was my boyfriend. Why wouldn't I trust him?"

"Because there were other signs before that. You mentioned he knew details you'd never shared." She flipped through her notes. "Your coffee order on the first date. Your mother's maiden name. The private journal entry he quoted."

I stared at the table. The laminate was scratched, marked by thousands of other witnesses who'd sat here explaining how they'd missed obvious danger signs.

"I thought it meant he was paying attention." My throat tightened. "I thought it meant he cared."

"Morgana." Anthonia waited until I looked up. "I need you to understand something. When you testify, the defense is going to suggest you were complicit. That you knew something was wrong and continued the relationship anyway. They'll paint you as either stupid or willing."

"I was stupid."

"No." Her voice hardened. "You were targeted by someone who's been perfecting his methodology for over a decade. Someone who studied you for months before he ever spoke to you. Someone who engineered every interaction to exploit your specific vulnerabilities."

Ramirez cleared his throat from the doorway. "She's right, Ms. Gaius. I've read David's documentation. He had fifty-three pages of notes on you before your first date. Psychological profile, daily routines, career ambitions, relationship history. He knew exactly how to approach you."

Fifty-three pages. I'd known that intellectually since Bruno showed me the files. But hearing it again, in this sterile room, made it real in a way it hadn't been before.

"Why me?" The question came out broken. "Why did he choose me?"

Anthonia exchanged a glance with Ramirez. "That's something we need to discuss. For your testimony, and for your recovery." She pulled out another file. "I've worked with a forensic psychologist who specializes in predatory behavior. She reviewed David's pattern across all his victims. Can I share what she found?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"David targets successful, intelligent women. Specifically, he targets women who are confident in their professional lives but isolated in their personal ones. Women who work long hours, who've sacrificed relationships for career advancement, who pride themselves on being analytical and careful." Anthonia looked at me directly. "Women exactly like you."

"Because we're easier to manipulate?"

"Because the hunt is more satisfying." Ramirez's voice was quiet. "Men like David don't want easy victims. They want the challenge of breaking someone who shouldn't be breakable. Your intelligence wasn't a weakness, Ms. Gaius. It was why he chose you."

The tea cup crumpled in my grip, cold liquid spilling across the table. I watched it spread, darkening the manila folders.

Anthonia pushed tissues toward me without comment. "The forensic psychologist calls it 'competence predation.' These offenders specifically seek out capable women because successfully manipulating them provides greater psychological satisfaction. Your strength made you a target, not your weakness."

I wiped up the spill, my hands shaking. "That doesn't make sense. If I was so strong, why didn't I see it?"

"Because he spent six months learning exactly how to be invisible to someone like you." Anthonia opened one of David's journals that Bruno had recovered. "He documented his approach in detail. 'Subject responds positively to intellectual challenge but dismisses emotional intuition as unreliable. Strategy: engage analytical thinking while exploiting dismissal of instinctive warning signals.'"

The words were clinical. Detached. Like I was a laboratory rat he'd been studying.

"He knew you'd rationalize away your gut feelings," Anthonia continued. "He knew you'd trust data over instinct. So he made sure the data supported his cover story while your instincts were screaming warnings you'd been trained to ignore."

I thought about all the times I'd felt something was wrong. The sick feeling when David appeared before I'd texted him. The unease when he knew things I hadn't shared. The cold dread when I found my apartment had been accessed.

Every time, I'd talked myself out of it. Used logic to override fear.

"I made it easy for him."

"You made normal, rational choices based on incomplete information." Ramirez moved closer to the table. "Ms. Gaius, I've been a cop for twelve years. I've seen hundreds of victims. And the ones who blame themselves the most are always the ones who did nothing wrong. The ones who did everything right but got targeted anyway."

"I dated a serial killer for three months. That's not doing everything right."

"You dated a man with an impeccable professional reputation who was recommended by colleagues, who passed background checks, who appeared in every way to be exactly who he claimed to be." Anthonia's voice was firm. "David Kellerman had a Vice President title, corporate references, a clean criminal record. What were you supposed to do—assume everyone you date is a murderer?"

"I should have trusted my instincts."

"Your instincts were working fine. You documented your concerns, you investigated inconsistencies, you confronted him about suspicious behavior. You did everything a rational person should do when something feels wrong." Anthonia leaned forward. "What you're describing as failure was actually you fighting to survive. And you won, Morgana. You're alive. His previous victims aren't."

The words hit like a physical blow. Amanda, Rebecca, Stephanie. Women who'd been where I was. Women who hadn't escaped.

"Why did they die and I didn't?"

Anthonia was quiet for a moment. "Luck. Timing. Marcus Webb investigating when he did. Detective Bruno connecting the dots. You fighting back when David expected compliance." She closed the journal. "But mostly? You lived because you refused to stop thinking. Even when David had broken down your confidence, even when you doubted everything, you kept analyzing. That analytical skill he targeted became the thing that saved you."

I pressed my palms flat against the table, feeling the solid surface. Real. Present. Alive.

"When I testify, they're going to ask why I didn't leave sooner."

"And you'll tell them the truth. That you did leave. That you confronted him, contacted police, entered protective custody. That you did everything right the moment you had enough evidence to act on." Anthonia gathered her files. "The jury doesn't need you to be perfect, Morgana. They need you to be honest. Can you do that?"

I thought about David's journals, his cold documentation of my "responses" to his manipulation. Thought about the other victims who couldn't testify. Thought about the women David might target in the future if I couldn't hold it together long enough to put him away.

"Yes." My voice was steadier than I expected. "I can do that."

"Good. Let's take a fifteen-minute break, then we'll go through the timeline again. I need your testimony airtight before—"

Anthonia's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, frowned. "Excuse me."

She stepped into the hallway. Through the open door, I heard her voice go sharp: "When? How long has he been missing?"

Ramirez's radio crackled. He moved away, speaking quietly into it.

I pulled out my phone, needing something normal. Email notifications filled the screen—work messages I'd been ignoring, news alerts about the "Dating App Killer" investigation.

One new message sat at the top of my inbox. Sender: [email protected]

My hands went numb.

The subject line read: "Unfinished Business."

I should have called Ramirez immediately. Should have alerted Anthonia. Should have done anything except click on that email.

But my finger was already moving, opening it.

The message contained one line: "I know where you are. And I know you're not ready to say goodbye."

Below it, an attachment. Photo file.

I opened it before I could stop myself.

The image showed the outside of this building. The DA's office. Taken from across the street, high angle. Recent—the timestamp showed twenty minutes ago.

In the lower corner, partially visible through a window on the third floor: me, sitting in this conference room.

My chair crashed backward as I stood. The phone clattered to the table.

Ramirez was beside me in seconds. "What is it?"

I couldn't speak. Just pointed at the screen.

His face went pale. He grabbed his radio. "We're compromised. Subject has visual on the witness. Requesting immediate—"

The lights went out.

Emergency lighting kicked in immediately, bathing everything in red. Ramirez's hand was on his weapon, his body between me and the door.

Anthonia rushed back in. "Building's in lockdown. Someone triggered the fire alarm on the ground floor. Security's responding but—"

An explosion somewhere below us shook the floor. Not large. Controlled. The kind of blast designed to create chaos, not destruction.

Ramirez was already moving me toward the interior hallway, away from windows. "Go, go, go."

I stumbled after him, my mind still processing the image. David had been across the street. Watching me. Twenty minutes ago.

Or someone working with him had.

We burst into the hallway. Other officers were evacuating staff, voices sharp with controlled urgency. The building's fire alarm was deafening, red lights strobing.

"East stairwell," Ramirez shouted over the noise. "Stay behind me."

We moved fast, Ramirez's hand gripping my arm. Behind us, Anthonia was on her phone, coordinating with building security.

The stairwell door opened before we reached it.

Richard Kellerman stepped through, wearing a maintenance uniform and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Ramirez's weapon was up instantly. "Hands! Now!"

Richard raised his hands slowly, the smile never faltering. "Relax, Officer. I'm just here to deliver a message."

"On the ground! Face down!"

"The message is simple." Richard's eyes found mine over Ramirez's shoulder. "David wants to talk. Just talk. And he knows you're smart enough to recognize you don't have a choice."

More officers poured into the hallway, weapons drawn. Richard didn't move, didn't resist. Just kept looking at me.

"He's waiting, Morgana. And he's very patient. But his patience has limits."

They took him down hard, three officers pinning him while Ramirez kept his weapon trained on the stairwell in case anyone else came through.

Anthonia was beside me, pulling me back toward the conference room. "We're moving you. Different facility. Different city if necessary."

But Richard was still talking, even with his face pressed to the floor. "You can't hide her forever, counselor. We both know that. And when she testifies—if she testifies—David will be watching. Always watching."

They dragged him away, still talking, still smiling.

Ramirez checked the stairwell, radioed for backup. The building slowly came out of lockdown.

And my phone, still lying on the conference room table, buzzed with a new message.

I looked at the screen.

Unknown number. One sentence: "The fire alarm was a test. Next time won't be."