Chapter 10 - THE BRIEFCASE
Daniel never made it inside my office.
My early arrival had blown up the plan before he reached the hallway.
But the footage showed enough.
He entered through the side gate.
Teresa greeted him.
Mason handed him something.
Daniel opened his briefcase.
Then I appeared at the back door.
Daniel saw me through the glass.
He closed the briefcase immediately and left through the same gate.
“He knew,” I said.
Harris nodded.
“He knew enough to run.”
Daniel was arrested three days later.
His attorney called everything a misunderstanding.
Mason’s attorney called him a victim of Teresa’s manipulation.
Teresa’s attorney called my mother a loving grandmother caught in a family disagreement.
Rachel read that statement out loud in her office.
Then she stared at me.
“I hate lawyers.”
“You are a lawyer.”
“Exactly.”
Despite everything, Amy laughed.
That sound mattered.
She had started sleeping again.
Frederick’s fever was gone.
But Amy still checked the locks three times every night.
And she still froze whenever a car slowed down in front of the house.
One evening, I found her sitting on Frederick’s nursery floor.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Amy.”
She looked up.
“I keep thinking she’s going to come back.”
“She can’t.”
“She always came back.”
I sat beside her.
“I’m getting a restraining order.”
“She’ll blame me.”
“She already blames you.”
Amy looked at me.
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“No.”
“It used to.”
That one landed.
I nodded.
“You’re right.”
She leaned against the crib.
“You know what the worst part was?”
I waited.
“Not the dishes.”
“Then what?”
“When Frederick got sick, I begged her to let me leave.”
My chest tightened.
“She said no.”
Amy nodded.
“She told me I was trying to steal attention from her.”
I closed my eyes.
“She said, ‘Today is about family.’”
Amy wiped her cheek.
“And I remember thinking… aren’t we family?”
I took her hand.
“You are my family.”
She looked at me for a long time.
“Then prove it.”
I didn’t take offense.
She had every right to say it.
The next morning, we filed for a protective order.
Two days later, Teresa violated it.
Not by coming to the house.
Not by calling.
She did something worse.
At 8:10 Monday morning, Amy’s phone exploded with notifications.
Facebook.
Instagram.
Texts.
Messages.
My mother had posted a twelve-minute video online.
She accused Amy of abusing Frederick.
She accused me of abandoning her.
And then she told the entire internet that Amy had stolen money from me.
By noon, thousands of people had watched it.
May you like
By one, someone posted our home address.
And at 1:17 PM, a stranger knocked on our door.
