Chapter 8

Nolan testified on day four.

He was calm. Reasonable. Corporate.

He talked about "shared financial principles." "Modern marriage." "My ex-wife's regret over her own spending."

His lawyer projected our Venmo history.

All those tiny requests. $1.94. $3.27. $6.12.

"These were mutual agreements," Nolan said. "She never objected."

Then Delia stood up.

She projected the deed.

Then the HELOC.

Then the LLC records.

Then the forged retirement distribution.

Then the Cabo receipts.

Then the Cayman account.

She walked through each one. Slow. Methodical.

"Mr. Mercer. You charged your wife $900 a month to live in a house she owned. You told her the money went to a trust administrator. It went to you. Correct?"

"I—"

"Yes or no."

"Yes."

"You took out a $250,000 loan on her property. She signed it during active grief, believing it was routine paperwork. Correct?"

"I wouldn't phrase it—"

"Yes or no."

A pause. "Yes."

"You cashed out her father's retirement account. Forged her signature. Correct?"

"I—"

"The handwriting expert says yes. The jury heard him. I'll ask again. Yes or no?"

Longer pause.

"Yes."

Delia let the word hang.

"Mr. Mercer, while you were doing all of this, you were charging your wife $1.94 for laundry detergent. Did you ever think she would check?"

Nolan didn't answer.

He looked at the table.

The jury looked at him.

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