My husband drove the car into the river with my brother and me trapped inside, but when the water had already reached my neck, the man who had been “paralyzed” for 15 years stood up from his wheelchair, k:ick:ed the door open, and whispered, “Play d:ea:d. He’s watching.” I didn’t ask any questions… until I saw who was waiting for my husband on the shore

Following the raid on Warehouse 14, Garrett Davenport was transferred from federal holding to the high-security psychiatric observation unit at the Chatham County Detention Center.

The man who had spent three years strutting through the elite country clubs of Savannah was completely, utterly unhinged.

The realization that his wife had survived the river, that his brother-in-law had faked paralysis for fifteen years, that his mistress had cheated on him with his own lawyer, and that his family’s entire empire was collapsing under federal indictments shattered his fragile psyche.

Sitting in a padded observation cell, wearing a tear-resistant green suicide smock, Garrett spent forty-eight hours pacing the concrete floor, clutching his head, screaming at the security cameras:

“She’s not dead! Rosalind is a witch! She climbed out of the river! She’s coming for me! Tell her I didn't mean to do it! Victor made me do it! My father told me to put the powder in the milk!”

At 10:00 AM on Friday morning, I walked into the secure non-contact visitation booth at the detention center.

I was dressed in an elegant white cashmere sweater, looking radiant, healthy, and full of life.

Garrett was brought to the other side of the bulletproof glass partition by two armed guards. His hands were shackled to a heavy chain around his waist, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his beard unkempt, his face hollowed by terror.

He picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver with shaking fingers.

I calmly picked up mine.

“Rosalind…” Garrett whimpered, pressing his forehead against the scratched glass. “Rosalind, please… you have to tell the prosecutors to drop the chemical weapon charges! They’re talking about the federal death penalty! I’m your husband! We took vows before God!”

“You broke those vows the first night you stirred Thallium into my milk, Garrett,” I replied, my voice steady, cold, and devoid of the slightest flicker of emotion.

“I was under my father’s control!” Garrett cried, tears streaming down his grimy face. “Victor threatened to cut me out of the will if I didn't secure the Sterling shipyard! I loved you, Rosalind! I really did! Every time I made that milk, my hands were shaking! I tried to give you small doses so it wouldn't hurt!”

A dry, chilling laugh escaped my lips.

“Small doses? You poisoned me for five hundred days, Garrett. You watched me vomit blood. You watched me lose my hair. You held my hand while a notary stole my signature, and then you wired my seatbelt shut and watched me sink to the bottom of Savannah Creek.”

I leaned in close to the glass, my eyes piercing through his shattered soul.

“You didn't love me, Garrett. You loved the idea of stealing what my father built. But today, the only thing you own is an orange jumpsuit and a one-way ticket to a federal supermax facility in Terre Haute.”

Garrett began to sob hysterically, slamming his shackled hands against the partition. “Rosalind! Don't leave me in here! Please! Tell them I’m crazy! Get me into a hospital!”