Chapter 6 - Harold Tried to Make Me Look Unstable
Harold did not surrender.
He changed strategy.
If documents could no longer disappear, he would discredit the woman reading them.
His attorneys requested psychological evaluation in divorce proceedings, arguing I had shown “sudden personality changes,” “impulsive abandonment of marital home,” and “susceptibility to outside influence.”
Sarah read motion aloud, then removed glasses.
“He's trying to establish you’re unstable because you stopped agreeing with him.”
“Will judge allow?”
“Limited evaluation maybe, given claims. We won't panic.”
I laughed bitterly.
Twenty-seven years of “you're overreacting” had become filing.
The evaluation happened.
Dr. Monica Feld, court-appointed forensic psychologist, asked hours of questions.
Marriage.
Family.
Gala.
Owen.
Money.
I answered.
“Do you believe Mr. Rodgers is romantically interested?”
“I don't know.”
“Are you romantically interested in him?”
“No.”
“Do you believe Mr. Rodgers is rescuing you?”
“No.”
“What is he doing?”
“Correcting a trust failure and providing evidence.”
“Do you think your husband stole your life?”
I paused.
“No.”
That seemed to surprise.
“He stole choices.”
More accurate.
“I still lived years. Some were happy. My marriage wasn't fake every minute because its beginning contained fraud.”
That truth had taken therapy for me too.
Harold loved me, perhaps.
We laughed.
Traveled.
Sat beside each other when parents died.
He held my hand through surgery.
He also stole.
Controlled information.
Humiliated.
People can contain contradiction.
Dr. Feld report concluded no evidence of cognitive impairment, delusion, or undue influence.
She noted my decision-making appeared organized and evidence-based.
Harold’s attempt backfired.
Then Sarah subpoenaed household communication archives.
Harold had always insisted family office retain emails.
A blessing.
Search terms:
Robbins.
Rodgers.
Second Start.
Harbor House.
Results.
Hundreds.
Most recent:
Two years earlier, when Owen first contacted Prescott Foundation, Harold emailed chief of staff:
If Rodgers inquiry reaches Anastasia, route it to me. She does not need old grant confusion stirred up.
A year earlier:
Any correspondence under Robbins should be held for legal review before household delivery.
Six months earlier:
Make sure Foundation bio continues to describe Anastasia as gala chair and homemaker. Do not add pre-marriage nonprofit history without my approval.
I stared at last one.
Why?
Because pre-marriage work might lead people to Second Start.
He had deliberately curated public biography.
Another email to PR consultant:
Her value to Foundation is warmth, not policy. Keep profile domestic.
I closed laptop.
Twenty-seven years of jokes weren't random.
They helped define me in public as someone unlikely to have originated serious social program.
That was why gala joke hurt so efficiently.
He had practiced narrative.
Then there was email from 2008.
A journalist wanted profile on spouses behind philanthropists.
Asked about my career.
Harold:
Anastasia never had professional ambitions. She was always happiest creating home.
False.
I had once wanted run Second Start.
After grant “rejection,” I doubted myself.
Then marriage, moves, his career.
I volunteered.
Eventually Foundation gala work.
Not nothing.
But ambition got reframed as youthful hobby.
I grieved woman I might have been.
Dangerous grief.
It can become fantasy.
Rebecca reminded:
“You may have hated nonprofit management after two years.”
“Thank you.”
“I'm serious. Don't invent perfect alternate life.”
She was right.
I didn't know what stolen path contained.
Only that choice should have been mine.
Harold's foundation board became nervous.
Several independent directors resigned.
Donors requested audit.
Prescott stock? His business private maybe holding company bonds? Let's keep private empire.
Banks reviewed covenants due fraud allegations.
Harold began losing reputation.
He blamed me.
Voicemail:
“Every employee who loses job because Rodgers tears company apart is on you.”
I forwarded Sarah.
No response.
Then one evening he called from unknown number.
I answered accidentally.
His voice tired.
“Do you remember Vermont?”
Our tenth anniversary.
Snowed in small inn.
We played cards.
He made terrible hot chocolate.
I laughed until stomach hurt.
“Yes.”
“Was I monster then?”
My eyes filled.
“No.”
“Then why are you treating me like one now?”
I took time.
“I’m treating what you did as real.”
“You loved me.”
“Yes.”
“I loved you.”
“Maybe.”
“I did.”
His voice broke.
“Doesn't that count?”
“Yes.”
That surprised him.
“It counts as love.”
I swallowed.
“It does not count as permission.”
Silence.
He whispered:
“I was afraid you'd choose that program over me.”
There.
First personal confession.
“What?”
“When grant came through, you were alive in way I hadn't seen. Talking about offices, staff, five-year expansion. You said maybe you would postpone wedding six months.”
I remembered.
Vaguely.
I had told him grant, if awarded, could require travel.
He felt threatened.
“I thought if you got it, we'd never marry.”
“So you took it.”
“I told myself I could invest it, grow money, give you better platform later.”
“Why didn't you tell me after company succeeded?”
“Because by then…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“You would know what I did.”
Exactly.
First theft created second lie.
Then third.
Decades.
“Harold, did you forge my signature yourself?”
Long silence.
“No.”
“Who?”
“James did first assignment.”
Dead notary friend.
“Did you ask?”
“Yes.”
There.
Admission.
“Power of attorney?”
“Later.”
“Who?”
“Legal team prepared reconstruction.”
Fabricated record after suspicion.
My stomach turned.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Every year?”
“Every year.”
I closed eyes.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For finally telling truth.”
“Anastasia—”
I ended call.
Was it recorded? Florida two-party consent, can't secretly record. So no. I couldn't use legally perhaps. But truth for me.
I wrote contemporaneous memo to Sarah.
Not decisive evidence.
Enough personally.
Next day Harold issued public statement denying intentional wrongdoing.
He could confess privately and deny publicly.
That told me remorse had limits.
Then Foundation audit uncovered something no one expected.
Second Start had not disappeared completely.
Harold had taken pieces of it.
Its language.
Its metrics.
Its framework.
May you like
And used them to build the Prescott Foundation's most celebrated program.
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