Chapter 13 - THE HEARING
Three weeks later, I saw my son in court.
He wore a navy suit.
He had shaved.
His bruises were gone.
If you had seen him walking down the street, you would have thought he was an accountant heading to lunch.
That was the unsettling part.
Monsters rarely look like monsters.
Sometimes they look like the child whose school picture is still on your refrigerator.
Ethan’s attorney tried to make the case simple.
Addiction.
Financial panic.
Mental health.
A desperate man making terrible choices.
The prosecutor made it complicated.
Identity theft.
Bank fraud.
Wire fraud.
Forgery.
Attempted extortion.
Conspiracy.
Fraud involving elderly financial assets.
Unauthorized credit activity involving minors.
The list went on.
I was not legally elderly.
I told the prosecutor that.
She said the financial institution used an age-based vulnerable-customer policy starting at sixty.
That irritated me more than it should have.
“I’m not vulnerable.”
She looked at me.
“No. You were targeted.”
That was different.
Amber filed for divorce.
She brought the children to court once.
Ethan cried when he saw them.
The kids did not understand everything.
Thank God.
His twelve-year-old daughter, Lily, asked me:
“Is Daddy going to jail because he stole Grandma’s money?”
I did not know what to say.
Amber answered.
“Daddy made serious choices.”
Lily looked at her.
“But he’s not a bad person, right?”
Nobody answered fast enough.
I hated Ethan for putting that question into his child’s mouth.
At the preliminary hearing, his attorney tried to argue that I had authorized some transfers.
Then the prosecutor played the motel recording.
My voice filled the courtroom.
“You were supposed to take the blame.”
Then Ethan’s voice:
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“That was the plan.”
Silence.
Then:
“I needed time.”
The judge’s face hardened.
Ethan stared at the table.
His attorney stopped arguing authorization.
After the hearing, Ethan asked to speak to me.
The prosecutor advised against it.
I agreed anyway.
We met in a small room separated by thick glass.
He picked up the phone.
I did too.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
He looked older.
Not forty-one.
Older.
“Hi.”
I said nothing.
He swallowed.
“I heard the bank recovered some money.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“One hundred and eighty-six thousand.”
“That’s good.”
I almost laughed.
“Good?”
“I mean, better than nothing.”
“Some of it came from accounts you hadn’t emptied yet.”
He nodded.
“I’m glad.”
“No, you’re not.”
He looked hurt.
“You don’t know what I feel.”
“That’s true.”
I leaned closer to the glass.
“I stopped knowing you a long time ago. I just didn’t realize it.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“Mom.”
I let him say it this time.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“All of it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He looked confused.
“Pick one thing.”
He stared at me.
“The money.”
“No.”
“The house.”
“No.”
“Dad’s account.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The dinner.”
He went still.
I continued.
“You planned to humiliate me in front of everyone I loved.”
“I was scared.”
“You smiled.”
He looked away.
“I saw you.”
Silence.
“You liked having control.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He started crying.
“I thought if everyone believed you were the problem, I could fix everything before anybody figured it out.”
“You mean before they figured you out.”
He nodded.
That was the first honest thing he had said.
I asked, “Why didn’t you just ask me for help?”
He laughed sadly.
“Because you would’ve said no.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
He looked at me.
“You would have paid a debt. You would have helped with the kids. You would have helped me close the business.”
He paused.
“But you wouldn’t have given me money to gamble.”
“No.”
“And I thought gambling was the only way to get everything back.”
There it was again.
One big win.
I shook my head.
“You weren’t trying to get everything back.”
He looked confused.
“You were trying to get back the feeling that you were winning.”
He stared at me.
For a long time.
Then whispered:
“Maybe.”
The guard tapped the door.
Time.
Ethan leaned close to the glass.
“Will you come back?”
I held the phone.
My heart wanted to say yes.
My memory wanted to say yes.
The part of me that still remembered his first day of kindergarten wanted to say yes.
But the woman who had stood beside that retirement cake knew better.
“I don’t know.”
His face fell.
Then he said:
“There’s something I haven’t told the prosecutor.”
I almost laughed.
“What now?”
He lowered his voice.
“Cassandra has a copy of everything.”
My stomach tightened.
May you like
“She’s in custody.”
“She wasn’t working alone.”
