Chapter 7: Her Move
She called that afternoon.
I was at my desk when the phone rang, Mia doing homework at the kitchen table behind me, her pencil scratching steadily against paper.
I looked at the screen, then at Mia, then back at the screen.
I answered and put it on speaker, quietly, so Mia could hear if she chose to.
"I heard you went to see Gerald this morning," my mother said.
Her voice was even.
Controlled.
The voice she used when she wanted you to know she wasn't rattled.
"I did," I said.
"I hope he was helpful."
"He was, actually."
A pause.
"I want to sit down with you.
Just the two of us.
I think there's been a serious misunderstanding and I'd like to clear it up before this goes any further."
"What misunderstanding would that be?"
"Your father and I discussed this together.
Over many months.
He was very clear about what he wanted."
"He asked where I was," I said.
"While he was signing.
He asked twice."
Silence.
"Gerald told you that."
"Gerald showed me his notes."
Another pause, longer.
When she spoke again, the evenness in her voice had thinned slightly, like ice at the edge of a thaw.
"Gerald is covering himself.
He made an error in procedure and now he's trying to shift the blame."
"He's cooperating with a full review of the amendment."
"A review." The word came out flat.
"On what grounds?"
"Dad's medical records.
A nurse's written statement.
Daniel's account of that afternoon.
And the text message you sent Daniel twenty minutes after I found the document."
The silence this time was different.
Longer.
I could hear her breathing.
"Daniel spoke to you."
"He did."
"He doesn't understand what he saw."
"He understands what he signed," I said.
"And he understands what you told him before he signed it."
"I am your mother." Her voice had changed now — harder, the control dropping away.
"I am your father's wife of forty-one years.
I have a right to —"
"You put your hand over Mia's mouth."
The words came out quietly.
I hadn't planned them.
But once they were in the air, I didn't take them back.
Silence.
"She's seven years old," I said.
"She found a document in your bag and you covered her mouth so she couldn't call for me.
That's what I keep coming back to.
Not the estate.
Not the signature.
That."
"She was being dramatic —"
"Don't."
The word was short and final and she stopped.
"I'm not going to sit down with you," I said.
"Not yet.
My attorney will be in contact with yours.
When there's something to discuss formally, we'll discuss it formally."
"You're making a mistake." Her voice had gone cold now, the warmth entirely gone.
"You think you have enough to overturn this?
You don't.
The amendment was legally executed.
Gerald witnessed it.
Whatever he's saying now, his signature is on that document."
"So is Daniel's," I said.
"And Daniel is prepared to testify about the conditions under which he gave it."
A long pause.
"If you do this," she said, "you will not get a second chance at this family."
"I'll take that risk."
I ended the call.
Mia's pencil had stopped.
I turned around.
She was watching me from the kitchen table, her homework forgotten in front of her.
"Was that Grandma?" she said.
"Yes."
She looked at me for a moment.
"Is she going to come back?"
"Not for a while."
Mia considered this.
Then she picked up her pencil and went back to her homework.
My phone buzzed on the desk.
A number I didn't recognize — different from Patricia Wren's.
I answered it.
"Is this the son?" A man's voice this time.
Older.
Hesitant.
"My name is Robert Calloway.
May you like
I was your father's accountant for fifteen years.
I think there's something you need to know about a second account."
