The article included quotes from several of Anna’s former classmates in Russia. “[Anna] and I . . . were best friends,” said one named Anastasia. “True, people were afraid of her. Anna is very strong in character, not everyone could stand it. Her mockery could easily hurt. But she always did it very subtly.” This quote reminded me of a story that Anna once told me from her childhood. A girl in her class kept going home at the end of the school day with bruises, something that mystified the teachers, and Anna told me that she had been the one pinching her. At the time, I was unnerved to hear this and didn’t know what to make of it.
I continued reading. Another classmate, Nastya, remembered that Anna’s favorite movie was Mean Girls. Nastya said that she and Anna identified with the film’s cruel but “popular” lead characters and liked that they were “negative heroines.” To me, this explained a lot about the type of character Anna Sorokin was trying to emulate.
Toward the end of the article, I read a few quotes from a man named Vadim Sorokin, Anna’s father—who was clearly not named Daniel Decker Delvey, as Anna had said. “There is nothing so special about this story. . . . Many people want to find out something about my daughter from me, but by and large I have nothing to do with it.”
“She studied in Russia up to the 8th grade,” he told the reporter. “In school . . . she was on the honor roll. Before the arrest, we did not know anything about her life in the United States. My daughter never sent us money. On the contrary, she took from us! Naturally, we are very worried about her. She has such a selfish character; we can’t do anything about it. We gave her a normal upbringing. I do not know, by nature it is with her.”
The words “by nature” jumped out at me. The term was awkwardly formal, I assumed, because of the translation, but it felt so true to my understanding of Anna. Her self-centeredness and greed were by nature.
“To a certain extent, yes,” said Anna’s father, “naturally, she is guilty,”
* * *
On the morning of Wednesday, April 17—one year, eleven months, and two days after my departure from Morocco—I arrived at Foley Square, across from the District Attorney’s Office. Stepping out of the cab, I clumsily slammed the door into my knee. I froze, clenching my eyes shut, momentarily paralyzed by the throbbing pain. I had spent the previous four days mentally preparing for my testimony, agonizing over every detail. Now that it was finally time, all I needed to do was listen carefully, move at my own speed, answer the questions, and tell the truth. The aching in my knee would serve as a helpful reminder to slow down and be present.
I entered the New York State Supreme Court with Assistant District Attorney Kaegan Mays-Williams, a prosecutor who had been assigned to the case alongside ADA Catherine McCaw.
Mays-Williams had prepped me for my testimony and would be the one conducting my direct examination (asking me questions in front of the jury). The courtroom was on the seventh floor. I was silent as we rode up in the crowded elevator, aware that a juror or reporter might be listening to anything I said. I was so nervous. Feeling strong, feeling ready, I kept repeating in my head.
Mays-Williams and I exited the elevator into a short hallway that dead-ended in the center of a long corridor lined with wooden benches. I spotted Nick and Kathryn right away. They stood to hug me, and I briefly introduced them to the assistant district attorney before she left us to wait for me to be called. The three of us sat on a bench, watching jurors and reporters file by toward the courtroom. A couple of men with long-lensed cameras snapped my picture from down the hall. I felt exposed, self-conscious of my every move, and hypersensitive to my surroundings.
We waited about an hour before a court officer came up to me and said it was time. I nodded, looked at my friends for reassurance, and walked ahead of them to enter the courtroom alone. The officer leading the way was a stocky, fifty-something blonde woman with a kindly disposition. She was unexpectedly chatty.
“Are you a photographer?” she asked as we walked.
“Only for fun,” I answered, “I worked in the photo department of a magazine.” I didn’t tell her that I’d been laid off. She told me about her son who was a photographer—or at least I think that’s what she said. I was distracted. Near the end of the hallway, she stopped and turned to me.
“Ready?” she said.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I responded.
Then she opened the door and yelled, “Witness entering!”
Escorted by the court officer, I somberly walked down the aisle, dressed in a nondescript, navy silk button-down, black slacks, and black pointed-toe shoes. Imagine, if you will, the opposite of a wedding ceremony. To my left and right, church-like pews were filled with people who turned to look at me. Some of them even took my picture. But none of them actually knew me, nor did I know them. They were not my friends or loved ones, whom, aside from Kathryn and Nick, I had asked not to come, wanting to limit their exposure to the press and, most importantly, to Anna. She was already there, of course, sitting next to her lawyer, but I wouldn’t look at her until I had to.
“Watch your step,” said the court officer, as I made my way up a few stairs to the witness stand, between the empty jury box and the judge. I remained standing, as instructed, lifted my right hand, and swore to tell the truth. Next, twelve jurors—six men and six women, varied in age and ethnicity—walked past me to take their seats. I prepared to formalize the nullification of my friendship with Anna Delvey. ADA Mays-Williams asked me whether I saw the person who had committed the crime against me anywhere in the room.
“She’s there,” I said, pointing to Anna, looking in her direction for the first time and meeting her stare. She was smirking, with the corners of her mouth turned slightly upward and a mocking look in her eye. Was she trying to unnerve me? Her attitude now struck me as juvenile. It strengthened my resolve. I was asked to describe something she was wearing, so I said that she had on dark-rimmed glasses.
“Let the record reflect the witness has identified the defendant,” said Mays-Williams. After that, I barely looked at Anna, ignoring her presence almost entirely. It was surprising to me how little she affected my composure. I think it was partially because she no longer seemed mystifying. I knew who she really was now. In addition, back in the summer of 2017, I had already confronted her with everything, so I wasn’t accusing her of anything new.
I was more concerned with the jury, feeling a vital need for them to listen, understand, and know I was telling the truth. I tried to answer the questions calmly, but when I was asked to describe what had happened on May 18, 2017—the day that Anna had convinced me to put down my credit card at La Mamounia—I started to cry. I quickly collected myself and continued answering the questions with as much composure as I could summon.
There were more tears when I had to read text messages and emails out loud and describe the way Anna’s deceit had affected me. I couldn’t prevent the feelings of powerlessness, anxiety, and betrayal from resurfacing—they were embedded in my memories.
I had been told beforehand that my testimony would likely take one full day, but my direct examination by the ADA took longer than expected, which left Todd Spodek with only fifteen minutes to begin his cross-examination of me. So I was asked to come back the next day.
The next morning I sent a group text to my family. Gearing up for day two. Cross examination, the message said. Climbing back into my armor. Feeling strong. Feeling ready! Going to breathe. Take my time. Tell the truth. And that’s all there is to it.
Go get ’em sweetie!! replied Uncle Bill.
You got it. Now go give it, said Aunt Jennie.
The amen chorus is warming up and by your side. Love you, wrote my dad.
Yes! And don’t let anyone put words in your mouth! Uncle Jim added.
Yes, [Uncle Jim] is right, Aunt Becky agreed. A pause before answering will allow you to breathe and gather your thoughts. Your integrity will come shining through! We love you.
Cross-examination was the part of t
he trial I had dreaded the most, and for good reason. I understood its importance, but from ten in the morning to one in the afternoon, I sat in the witness stand and tried to defend myself—without sounding defensive—against a character assassination. Spodek attempted to portray me as opportunistic for letting Anna buy me dinners, training sessions, and a decadent vacation, which of course she never paid for.
He paced around while he spoke, gesturing animatedly with his arms. He was not dissimilar from the lawyers I had seen on television and in the movies. Each time he asked me a question, I took a breath, repeated his words in my head, and did my best to answer as accurately as possible. It was a test of my patience, and mental acuity, to have someone question my every move and motive. Snapping back at him would have reflected poorly on me, so instead I concentrated on telling the truth as calmly and succinctly as possible.
I stayed collected and straight-faced for a long time, but eventually he struck a nerve. Aware that I had a book deal and that my story had been optioned by HBO, he accused me of using the trial as content for entertainment. I felt all of my pent-up defensiveness and anger begin to erupt. I spoke more firmly, no longer able to contain my irritation. “I didn’t want the trial, or my testimony, to be misconstrued as a ploy for my own benefit, because it is not,” I snapped.
I was the victim of a con. I didn’t choose this. His accusation sent my head spinning—particularly because I felt so sure that he and Anna were the ones doing just that, putting on a show. I looked out at Todd and Anna and, in the audience, saw Jessica Pressler, who I already knew was working with Netflix. It was surreal.
But then again, Nick and Kacy Duke were also there, having come in a touching gesture of support. There were no HBO staffers or book agents, no publicists or stylists in attendance. I hadn’t treated the courtroom like a publicity opportunity. I wore the exact same outfit two days in a row. After day one of my testimony, there were photos of me ugly-crying on the Internet. This was not splashy or fun, not entertainment—this was me pushing a damn boulder up a hill because my friend Anna had turned out to be a con artist and had taken advantage of me, as well as of so many others.
I looked out at the room, afraid I might find it was only a movie set. I imagined everything shifting—the way it happens in dreams—into a nightmarish unreality. I felt an urgent need to call everyone back to real life. Spodek kept pushing. My memory of his exact wording is fuzzy—my ears were filled with the thrum of my own anger—but what I heard was “You want this—this is good for you, isn’t it?”
“This is not about entertainment,” I said staunchly. “It is about law and order and a crime. . . . This is about something I went through.”
I looked at Anna and the crowd of people and I wanted to scream, Don’t you see?
I heard Spodek say, “But this is entertainment. It worked out pretty well for you, didn’t it?”
What does that have to do with the crime that was committed? I wanted to yell. Yes, I had found a way out of the wreckage. Would my case have been stronger if I hadn’t? Should I have stayed lost and broke? Would that have made me a better victim?
“This is the most traumatic experience I’ve ever been through,” I said, my voice breaking. “I wish I had never met Anna. If I could go back in time, I would. I wouldn’t wish this on anybody.”
The cross-examination concluded minutes later. As soon as the judge turned to excuse me, I stood up from my chair in the witness stand and, without pausing, walked angrily down the courtroom aisle and out the door. While I waited for Nick in the empty hallway, I closed my eyes, clenched my jaw, and breathed deeply through my nose. Nick emerged seconds later.
“I don’t want to be here,” I said urgently. “I need out—need to go. I’m done.”
Without lingering, we strode to the elevator. I had lasted as long as I could in that place, with Anna there, and all of the press. I had withstood the relentless questioning of my character. It had been miserable. I’d had enough.
The moment we were safely outside and half a block away, I crumbled, sobbing in the middle of the sidewalk. It needed to happen. I had to release all of the pressure and emotion I’d been suppressing. So for a minute, I let it all go while Nick gave me a hug and said I had done great. Once I calmed down, we walked a few blocks to the Odeon for lunch. While we waited for our food, I stepped outside to call my parents, who were anxiously waiting to hear from me. I did my best, I told them, but it had been hard. They were so proud of me, they said.
The next day, I flew to Knoxville to spend Easter weekend with my family. When I arrived to McGhee Tyson Airport, my mom, dad, and brother greeted me with a giant hug and a bouquet of flowers. It was good to be home. My sister arrived the next day, and the five of us hung around the house. Outside, the dogwood trees were blooming and the springtime air was warm. I wanted to stay longer, but I knew that Anna’s trial was almost over, and I felt like I needed to be in New York when it ended. My time in Knoxville was just long enough for me to catch my breath before the jury made up their mind.
I traveled back to Manhattan on Tuesday afternoon. All day, I’d been keeping an eye on Twitter, thinking that’s where news about Anna would be shared first. When I got home from the airport, I collapsed onto the sofa. That’s when I saw a tweet saying the trial’s closing arguments had ended. Now I can only hope, I thought. It was all that was left to do. The rest was up to the jurors, who were beginning their deliberations.
Even though I tried to distract myself, by watching a movie and talking to friends, I couldn’t resist hitting the Refresh button on my Internet search for Anna Sorokin–related news every fifteen to thirty minutes.
That evening, I saw articles online summarizing the closing arguments made by McCaw, for the prosecution, and Spodek, in Anna’s defense. According to Rolling Stone, Spodek referred to my testimony as a “performance” worthy of an “Oscar.” This made my blood boil; he had been the one performing—not me.
The jury deliberated for longer than anyone expected. Wednesday came and went without news. When I first returned from Knoxville, I had been feeling calm about the impending verdict, relatively at peace with whatever might happen. But the longer it took, the more anxious I became.
On Thursday evening, after another full day of jury deliberations, I saw a tweet from a New York Times reporter: A note from the Anna Sorokin jury at 4:55: “We the jury would like to inform the judge that we feel unable to reach a unanimous verdict because we fundamentally disagree. How would you recommend we proceed?” The judge sent them back to continue deliberations.
My heart sank. I did some online research to understand what this could mean. In criminal-court cases, New York State requires a unanimous vote by the jury to find the defendant guilty.
So, if one single juror was holding out, insisting that Anna was innocent (or at least not guilty beyond all reasonable doubt), the other jurors would need to agree to declare her “not guilty,” or they would have to convince the holdout to change his or her mind. They also needed to reach a separate verdict for every individual crime of which Anna was accused.
If the jurors were really deadlocked, the judge would declare a hung jury, resulting in a mistrial. Then the government would have a choice: it could either abandon the prosecution entirely or set a date for another criminal trial, starting from scratch with a new jury. Surely, the prosecution would proceed with a second trial, I thought. But if it came to that, would I have to testify all over again?
And then, less than two hours later, I saw another tweet: The jury has reached a verdict in the #FakeHeiress trial. #AnnaSorokin #AnnaDelvey.
That’s all it said. I sat cross-legged on my bed, refreshing Twitter and my Internet browser, begging the computer for more information. I frantically called Nick and began to hyperventilate.
“Either way, Rachel,” he said, “you’re going to be fine.”
* * *
On April 25, 2019, the New York State Supreme Court jury found Anna Sorokin guilty of eight
of the charges against her (five of the charges from the indictment plus three from the earlier stiffed hotels and dine-and-dash incident), including attempted grand larceny in the first degree, grand larceny in the second degree, grand larceny in the third degree, and theft of services.
Anna had used phone and computer applications to create voice mails from fictional bankers and to falsify bank documents. She created emails for fake personas—such as “Bettina Wagner”—after searching Google to learn how to “send untraceable fake emails.”
The jury did not, however, find her criminally guilty in her actions toward me or toward Fortress Investment Group. When I first heard the news, I was crushed. How did they get it so wrong? But then, I adjusted my perspective. ADA McCaw, ADA Mays-Williams, and Officer McCaffrey (who by this point had been promoted to detective) each called me, independently, after the verdict was announced. Sometimes when jurors are stuck in deliberations for longer than expected—if there are a few stubborn holdouts on either side—they “split the baby.” In this case, that might have meant giving Anna a “not guilty” verdict on certain counts.
During their deliberations, the jurors had asked the judge questions about the role of intent in determining criminality. When Anna proposed our vacation in early May, she had just deposited a heap of bad checks into her bank account and withdrawn $70,000—what for? She used some of it to pay her bill at 11 Howard, but what was her intention with the rest? Did Anna intend for me to pay for the vacation? How could she have known that my credit cards would even cover that much money? I certainly didn’t. And did Anna intend to pay me back? Is that why she had wired me $5,000? If she had gotten a multi-million-dollar loan from someplace, do I think she would have repaid me? Maybe. Probably. I do think Anna honestly wanted me as a friend.
My Friend Anna Page 27