A/N: This story starts off where S.5 Ep.1 ends. The first episode of the season left us with more questions than the finale of season 4. So... what happens now?
CPOV
I don't remember how I got home. I couldn't tell you if I called a driver, took an Uber, hailed a taxi, or rode the subway.
I was too focused on the folder I held so tightly my knuckles were white and the thick cardstock of the file was beginning to warp under the pressure. I had only glimpsed at the documents that were contained inside, before all but storming out – unsure how to process the bits and pieces I'd seen.
I'd ridden the elevator down to the lobby contemplating going to Liza's to confront her. To ask her what the fuck was going on, to demand an explanation. But I think even my subconscious knew I wasn't ready for whatever answer she gave – which is why I ended up in front of my building instead of in Brooklyn.
Marching up the stairs, my mind swam with Liza. How she'd said out loud what we'd been dancing around for months. That whatever this was, this electricity that popped whenever we were in close proximity, was more than just an infatuation – it was real. I had done something I'd scoffed at other men my age doing and fell for a young subordinate.
The joke was on me, though.
I tossed the folder onto the large oak dining table and walked to the drink cart to pour myself something strong. I poured myself a double which turned into a double-double and wound up being almost an entire glass. I was going to need this (and more) to get through the packet in front of me.
"Charles, is that you?" Pauline's voice rang out from the hall. I ran a hand through my hair and put the glass down.
"Yea, in here," I answered.
She followed my voice and gave a small smile as she approached. "You weren't gone long. Everything okay at the office?"
I rubbed the back of my neck, deciding that nothing should be disclosed until I'd had time to sit and really look at everything. There was still a chance that Edward L.L. Moore had concocted this whole thing to discredit Liza, and through her both the case and Empirical. And I needed to believe that was what was going on, at least for a little while. "Yea, Moore's lawyers just dropped off some documents I need to review."
"He's really fighting this?" She asked, scoffing with disbelief. "That man has no moral compass, does he? Does he think he's going to get away with it? Sexually harassing all those women?"
"Who knows," I told her, finally taking a sip from my glass. "How're the girls?" I followed up quickly, not making a smooth segue at all.
"Oh," she said, seemingly surprised at the change in topic. "They're fine. They were asleep when I got home."
"Good. It sounds like they're finally out of their staying up all night phase." Probably because their mother is home, I thought to myself.
"Seems like it," she nodded as she moved closer. She put a hand on my upper arm and looked up at me. "Anything I can do? Help you look over the file? Make some coffee?"
"No, no," I brushed off. "I'm just going to head to the study and start sifting through this." I lifted the folder, waving it in the air.
She gave a half smile and nodded as I moved past her and headed upstairs.
The minute I got into my office I shut the door and strode over to my desk, tossing the file down.
I couldn't sit still and began pacing, eyeing the documents and having a Tell-Tale Heart moment. The folder palpitated with lies – or truths – that made the past few months one big farce. And I didn't want to believe that Liza, the woman that had captivated me from the moment I met her and every second since, could be that kind of person. The kind that so easily made up a life, that made up an entirely new identity – and for what purpose?
Finally, after I began to wonder if I was prematurely fading my carpet with my constant back and forth, I sat down at my desk. I didn't want to confirm what I knew; that Moore hadn't falsified documents, that the only deception that occurred was by the woman I'd worked beside for months and fallen for.
I cautiously opened the cover, coming face to face with evidence piece #1 – a copy of her birth certificate. She was not 27; she was 41.
As I reviewed each piece of paper, some legal documents, some photos, my glass emptied steadily.
Birth certificate
Marriage license
Birth certificate of her daughter
Divorce decree
A prom photo – silver helium balloons noting 1995 hanging in an arch above her and her date's heads.
A photo of her with pigtails on roller-skates, the picture clearly faded reflecting the decades that had gone by since it was taken
A wedding photo. This one didn't look as old as the others, but still a bit dated.
I read and reread. I stared at the photos until I went cross-eyed. I see-sawed between high voltage anger and rock in my stomach sadness.
I had fallen in love with a woman I knew nothing about. And I had no clue what the hell to do.
