Chapter 4 - My Mother’s Real Birthday Plan
Mason met Detective Lena Ward the next morning.
I joined by phone from the hospital while Amy held Frederick.
Mason sounded like he hadn’t slept.
“I didn’t know how far it went,” he said.
Detective Ward answered calmly.
“Start from the beginning.”
Mason swallowed.
“Aunt Teresa started talking about Connor’s finances last Christmas.”
I said, “Why?”
“She said Connor was too generous with Amy.”
Amy’s jaw tightened.
Mason continued.
“She said if they ever divorced, Amy would take everything.”
“I have never discussed divorce.”
“I know.”
“What did Teresa want you to do?” Ward asked.
Mason hesitated.
“She wanted help getting documents.”
“Why you?”
“I work for a title processing company.”
There it was.
Detective Ward asked, “Did you prepare documents?”
“No. I swear.”
“But you accessed information?”
Mason closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I nearly exploded.
“You used your job to search my property?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
Ward interrupted.
“Connor, let me handle this.”
I clenched my teeth.
She continued questioning him.
“Who prepared the transfer paperwork?”
“Raymond knew someone.”
“My uncle,” I said.
Mason nodded.
“The plan was to get Connor to sign documents without realizing what they were.”
Amy whispered, “The insurance forms.”
Mason heard her.
“Probably.”
My blood ran cold.
“Why the birthday party?”
He looked away.
“That was Teresa’s deadline.”
“For what?”
“She wanted the deed yesterday because Raymond had a meeting Monday.”
“What meeting?”
“With somebody connected to a private lender.”
Detective Ward leaned forward.
“What did they intend to do with the property?”
Mason rubbed his face.
“I think they wanted to use it as collateral.”
I couldn’t speak.
Amy could.
“For a loan?”
“Yes.”
“In our names?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was the money for?” Ward asked.
Mason hesitated.
“A business.”
I laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
“What business?”
“Raymond has debts.”
There it was.
My mother planned to risk my home to rescue her brother.
Detective Ward asked, “Did Teresa benefit financially?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She was supposed to become part owner.”
I leaned back in the hospital chair.
For twelve months, my mother had convinced both me and my wife that she was helping us.
In reality, she had been isolating Amy, accessing our financial documents, extracting money, and preparing to leverage my house.
And she chose my son’s birthday to make the final move because the house would be full of relatives.
Chaos.
Distraction.
Cover.
“Why humiliate Amy?” I asked.
Mason stared at me.
“What?”
“Why make her work all day?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I heard Teresa talking to Betsy.”
“About what?”
“She wanted Amy exhausted.”
Amy’s face went pale.
“Why?”
“So when you got home, Teresa could tell you Amy had ruined the party.”
I stared at the screen.
Mason continued.
“She wanted an argument between you two.”
“And then?”
“She thought Amy would leave with Frederick.”
I finally understood.
My mother expected me to come home late.
See a messy kitchen.
Hear complaints from relatives.
Find an exhausted, angry wife.
Then Teresa would play peacemaker.
She would push.
Amy would leave.
And my mother would be standing beside me saying, “I warned you.”
Amy looked at me.
“She wanted us separated.”
“Yes,” Mason whispered.
Detective Ward asked, “Did Teresa ever explicitly say that?”
Mason nodded.
“She said, ‘Once Amy is gone, Connor will listen to me again.’”
Nobody spoke.
Then Frederick made a sleepy sound against Amy’s chest.
She kissed his forehead.
I thought about the last year.
Every small disagreement.
Every time my mother had told me Amy was tired.
Sensitive.
Wasteful.
Unappreciative.
Every time Amy had gone silent when Teresa entered the room.
It hadn’t been random.
Mom had been building a story.
And I had been stupid enough to accept parts of it.
Later that afternoon, after Frederick was discharged, we went home under police supervision.
The birthday decorations were still hanging.
A blue balloon floated near the ceiling.
A banner stretched across the wall.
HAPPY 1ST BIRTHDAY.
The food was gone.
The guests were gone.
The house felt violated.
Amy stood in the kitchen.
“I hate this room.”
I looked at the sink where I had found her.
“Then we change it.”
“What?”
“The kitchen.”
She almost smiled.
“Connor, we’re not remodeling because your mother made me wash dishes.”
“I’m a construction engineer. Remodeling is basically how I process rage.”
That got a real laugh.
The first one I’d heard from her in days.
I opened the bakery box.
The cake had survived.
Barely.
One side of the frosting had collapsed.
Amy stared at it.
“You carried that around through all this?”
“I forgot I had it.”
She smiled weakly.
“It looks terrible.”
“So did yesterday.”
She laughed again.
I placed one candle in the center.
Frederick sat in his high chair wearing pajamas.
I put the little F pendant beside him.
“No relatives,” I said.
Amy sat next to me.
“No expensive seafood.”
“No champagne.”
“No Teresa.”
Amy looked at me.
“That last one is my favorite.”
I lit the candle.
“Happy birthday, buddy.”
Frederick immediately stuck his hand into the frosting.
Amy gasped.
Then laughed.
And for ten quiet minutes, the three of us finally celebrated our son.
But my mother wasn’t finished.
The next morning, she called from jail.
And the first thing she said was—
May you like
“Connor, if you testify against me, you’ll destroy this family.”
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