The first hearing in Ryan's criminal case drew more attention than I wanted. Local reporters knew about the arrest at the airport, and the combination of a wealthy construction executive, an affair, and forged documents made an easy headline. Some outlets focused on Ashley's red dress or the luxury resort. Others wrote serious accounts of the disputed financing and the company's unpaid subcontractors. I learned quickly that the public version of a private disaster often becomes whatever part of the story attracts the most attention.
I did not give interviews about the affair. I did not want my marriage turned into entertainment, and I did not want to defend why I had remained in it for as long as I had. My attorney released a short statement confirming that I was cooperating with investigators and pursuing appropriate legal remedies. Beyond that, I said nothing publicly unless I had a clear reason to speak.
Privately, I listened when Detective Ramirez explained the progress of the case. The evidence did not consist only of the fake signature. Investigators had obtained banking records, communications surrounding the loan application, information concerning the questioned notarial certificate, and documentation of business transfers. Several people who worked with the financing packet had been interviewed. Ryan was represented by counsel and disputed parts of the allegations, as was his right.
The process moved more slowly than I expected. I had imagined that showing a forged signature and my flight schedule would make everything obvious. Instead there were motions, document reviews, requests for records, and hearings in which people used formal language to argue about events that had already changed my life. At times I found the pace infuriating. I kept reminding myself that a fair process required evidence to be tested, even when I believed the conclusion was clear.
One evening I saw Luis Ortega again, this time at a community fundraiser organized to help affected workers and their families. Naomi had invited me because she knew I wanted to do something useful without making the event about Ryan or me. Luis recognized me near the entrance and hesitated, unsure whether speaking would be awkward. I walked over before he had to decide.
"Luis, I'm glad to see you. How are the crews doing?"
He sighed. "Some found work right away. Some didn't. It's been rough. A few of the projects are moving under new management, and the workers have filed claims for the money they're owed. We'll see what comes back."
"I'm sorry," I said.
He shook his head. "You don't owe me an apology for what Ryan did. I know you didn't run that company. But I'll tell you what I told the reporters: the people who poured concrete and hung drywall weren't numbers on his reports. They had lives."
I looked at the tables where volunteers were arranging donated groceries. "I know. And I want to help where I can."
Luis nodded. He did not make a speech about courage or ask me to become a symbol. He introduced me to his wife, who was organizing school supplies for children whose parents had been laid off. I spent the rest of the evening carrying boxes, writing labels, and doing ordinary work that did not require me to be anyone's wife.