Chapter 7 - GLASS ON THE FLOOR
Grace screamed.
Connor ducked behind the couch.
A rock rolled across Linda’s living-room floor surrounded by broken glass.
Wrapped around it was a note.
Linda reached for it.
“Don’t touch it,” I said.
My mother kept screaming outside.
“You think you can steal my grandson?”
Connor covered his ears.
Michael shouted from the porch.
“Diane, stop!”
“You shut up!”
Another crash.
She had knocked over a flowerpot.
Sirens grew louder.
I looked at the note.
Three words were written in thick black marker.
GIVE HIM BACK.
Police arrived moments later.
Diane was still on the lawn.
When Officer Martinez ordered her to put her hands behind her back, she slapped his arm away.
Bad decision.
Two officers took her down.
She screamed the entire time.
“I am his grandmother!”
Connor watched through the hallway.
I blocked his view.
“You don’t need to see this.”
He whispered.
“She always gets worse when she’s losing.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Because it meant this wasn’t new.
The next day, child protective services interviewed both children separately.
Grace told them everything.
The dog bowl.
The basement.
The medicine.
The haircut.
But then she mentioned something nobody expected.
“Grandma made me practice.”
The investigator leaned forward.
“Practice what?”
Grace twisted the hem of her sweater.
“What to say to the judge.”
My blood froze.
“What did she tell you to say?”
Grace looked at me nervously.
I squeezed her hand.
“You’re not in trouble.”
She whispered.
“She said I had to say Mommy sleeps all day.”
My jaw tightened.
“What else?”
“That Mommy drinks bad juice.”
“Alcohol?”
Grace shrugged.
“And Mommy leaves me alone.”
“Does Mommy leave you alone?”
“No.”
“Did Grandma tell you what would happen if you didn’t say those things?”
Grace nodded.
“What?”
“She said I’d never see Connor again.”
Connor started crying.
Grace looked at him.
“And she said she would send Mommy somewhere far away.”
I had to walk out.
I made it to the hallway before I broke down.
Linda followed.
“You okay?”
“No.”
And for once, I didn’t pretend.
“I left her there.”
“You trusted your mother.”
“I left my daughter with someone who drugged her and trained her to lie in court.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
Linda took my shoulders.
“No.”
Her voice was firm.
“Diane spent your whole life teaching you to doubt your own instincts.”
I looked at her.
Linda hesitated.
“There’s something you should know about your father.”
My heart began beating faster.
“What?”
“He was going to leave Diane.”
I stared.
“What are you talking about?”
“The week he died.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“My mother said they were happy.”
“They weren’t.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was scared of her.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
Linda looked ashamed.
“Because it’s true.”
She sat beside me.
“Your father found out Diane had been moving money from his company.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“He confronted her?”
“Yes.”
“And then he died?”
Linda nodded.
“My mother said heart attack.”
“That’s what the death certificate says.”
“You don’t believe it.”
Linda’s silence answered.
Before I could ask more, Martinez appeared.
“We found Michael’s statement credible enough to reopen part of the financial investigation.”
“What financial investigation?”
“Your father’s estate.”
My skin prickled.
Martinez handed me a photocopy.
It was a bank transfer dated three days after my father died.
$240,000.
Transferred from my father’s business account.
Authorized by Diane Morgan.
Destination account:
Peter Lang.
The fake doctor.
The veterinarian.
I looked up.
“What does a veterinarian have to do with my father?”
Martinez’s jaw tightened.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression changed.
“What happened?” I asked.
May you like
He lowered the phone.
“Peter Lang was found dead this morning.”
