Chapter 7: What Mom Finally Asked
She came to Miriam's office on Thursday morning without calling ahead.
I was in the waiting area reviewing documents when the front door opened and Mom walked in.
She was wearing her coat over what looked like yesterday's clothes.
Her hair wasn't done.
She looked like she hadn't slept.
She saw me and stopped.
"I need to talk to you," she said.
"Just you.
Not the attorney."
I looked toward Miriam's closed office door.
"Miriam is with another client."
"Then just us.
Please."
We sat in the waiting area.
The receptionist quietly found somewhere else to be.
Mom looked at her hands for a long moment.
"How much did you know?" she finally asked.
"About the nine hundred thousand?"
"About any of it.
About what your father was doing."
"I found out three months ago," I said.
"The email about Lena's house.
That's what started it."
She nodded slowly.
"And the Carver Holdings transfers.
When did you find those?"
"Miriam found them after I came to her.
She had the full account history from Grandfather's estate file."
Mom was quiet.
Outside, a car passed slowly on the street.
"I didn't know about Douglas," she said.
"I want you to believe that."
"I do believe it."
"But I knew the money wasn't being managed the way your grandfather intended." She looked up at me.
Her eyes were dry, but only barely.
"I told myself it was still in the family.
That it would come back to you eventually.
That your father was just — smoothing things over until you were old enough."
"That's what he told you."
"Yes." She pressed her lips together.
"And I let myself believe it because it was easier than asking the questions I should have asked."
I didn't say anything.
"I'm not asking you to stop what you're doing," she said.
"I want you to know that.
I'm not here to defend him or ask you to drop anything.
I just needed to sit in front of you and say that I'm sorry.
I should have protected you.
That was my job and I didn't do it."
Something in my chest shifted.
Not all the way.
But enough.
"Why didn't you?" I asked.
Not with anger.
I genuinely wanted to know.
She thought about it for a long time before she answered.
"Because I was afraid of what it would mean if I looked too closely.
If your father was doing something wrong, then I had to decide what to do about it.
And I didn't want to have to make that decision." She looked at me steadily.
"That's the honest answer.
It's not a good one."
"No," I said.
"It isn't."
She nodded.
She wasn't asking for forgiveness.
She was just telling the truth, and she knew the truth wasn't enough to fix anything.
"Lena doesn't know about Douglas either," she said after a moment.
"She knew about the house.
She knew the money was coming from your inheritance.
But she thought your father had the authority to do it.
She didn't know about the transfers."
"Did she ask?"
Mom paused.
"No.
She didn't ask."
That landed quietly between us.
"Is she going to be all right?" I asked.
"She's angry right now.
At your father, mostly.
She feels used." Mom looked down again.
"She kept saying, 'He put me in the middle of this.' She's not wrong."
"No.
She isn't."
Mom stood up slowly.
She picked up her bag and held it with both hands.
"Whatever happens next," she said, "I want you to know that I'm not going to stand in your way.
Your grandfather left that money to you.
He was right to."
She walked to the door.
Then she stopped with her hand on the frame.
"He used to talk about you, you know.
Your grandfather.
He said you were the one who paid attention.
He said you always listened when he talked about the estate, about the documents, about why things needed to be written down properly." She turned her head slightly but didn't look back.
"He said he wasn't worried about you.
He said you'd know what to do."
May you like
The door closed behind her.
I sat in the waiting room for a long time after that.
