"Pick up your money," I said. "You already took four years of my life. You're not buying the ones I have left."
She smiled. "You still think you can win."
To understand that moment, you have to go back to the day I walked out of the women's reformatory in Carrington.
My name is Paige Delaney. I'm thirty-six, and I served four years for a fr*ud I did not commit.
Before prison I'd built Clearwater Medical Supply from a rented storefront. My husband, Wesley, ran sales. My sister Claudia ran the books. I trusted them with everything, which turned out to be the whole problem.
When my mother-in-law, Maureen, got sick, I spent weeks at the hospital. And while I sat holding her hand, transfers I never authorized moved money out of my company to a vendor I'd never heard of — all under my credentials.
Wesley testified I'd ordered them. Claudia produced documents that proved it. My lawyer couldn't prove I hadn't.
