Chapter 6: The Negotiation
Penelope called me herself three days later.
I was at my desk at work when her name appeared on my screen.
I let it ring twice.
Then I picked up and put it on speaker so I could type while she talked.
"I think we need to sit down and talk like adults," she said.
Her voice was measured, careful.
The sharpness from before was gone.
"This has gone too far."
"I agree," I said.
"It went too far when you called the police on Bella."
"That was a mistake.
I can admit that.
But you've responded by cutting off your own family and sending lawyers after your mother.
Do you understand how that looks?"
"I understand exactly how it looks."
"I want to come to an arrangement," she said.
"Something reasonable.
You restore the transfers — not all of them, I understand you're upset — but the health insurance at minimum.
And I'll back off.
We move forward."
I stopped typing.
"You want me to pay your health insurance in exchange for you stopping the harassment campaign you started against me."
A pause.
"I wouldn't call it that."
"What would you call it?"
"A misunderstanding that got out of hand.
We're family.
We don't need lawyers."
"You filed a false welfare report with the state of New Mexico," I said.
"You showed up at my house and told my five-year-old she would be in trouble if she didn't let you in.
You called people we know and told them I was neglecting my daughter.
And now you want to negotiate."
"I'm trying to fix things."
"No," I said.
"You're trying to get your money back."
Her voice shifted.
The careful tone cracked slightly at the edges.
"You have no idea what it costs to live on a fixed income.
I did everything for you.
I gave up years of my life.
And you cut me off without a single conversation."
"You had a conversation with two police officers in my living room while my daughter cried on the couch," I said.
"That was the conversation."
Silence.
"If you push this," she said, and now the careful voice was completely gone, "I will make sure everyone knows what kind of mother you really are.
I have people who will say what I need them to say.
You think that caseworker closing one report means you're safe?
I can file again.
And again.
Every report takes time to close.
Every one of them goes on a record somewhere.
Eventually, people start to wonder."
I had been waiting for this.
Diane had told me she would get here eventually.
"Thank you," I said.
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"What?"
"I recorded this call," I said.
"I've been recording every call from you since the welfare report was filed.
My attorney advised me to.
You just threatened to file false reports against me as leverage in a financial negotiation.
I want to make sure you understand what you said."
The line went quiet for so long I thought she had hung up.
"You're bluffing," she said finally.
"Diane will be in touch," I said.
And I ended the call.
I sat for a moment with my hands flat on the desk.
Then I forwarded the recording to Diane with a subject line that read: *She said it herself.*
Diane called back in eleven minutes.
"This changes things significantly," she said.
"Threatening to file false welfare reports as financial leverage is not a civil matter anymore.
I want to loop in someone from the DA's office.
Not to scare her — to document this properly in case she follows through."
"Do it," I said.
"There's one more thing," Diane said.
"Genevieve.
Has she been part of this directly, or is she following your mother's lead?"
I thought about the text Genevieve had sent.
*How does it feel knowing the state is now watching you?*
May you like
"Both," I said.
"Then she needs to be included in what comes next."
