Chapter 8: Teresa's Last Move
The arraignment was set for a Thursday.
Grace called me the night before.
"Her attorney filed a motion this afternoon," she said.
"They're arguing that the deed transfer was a legitimate family agreement — that you had verbal knowledge and implied consent, and that the forged signature claim is based on your own faulty recollection."
"They're still pushing that."
"They're going to push it until a judge tells them to stop.
But there's something else." A pause.
"Teresa is claiming that Amy coerced you into making the police call that night.
That Amy has a history of separating you from your family and that the events of Frederick's birthday were misrepresented to law enforcement."
"She's going after Amy again."
"She's going after Amy specifically because Amy is the one person she can't directly contradict with documents.
Everything else — the deed, the will, the bank transfers — is paper.
Paper doesn't lie.
But your relationship with your wife is something she thinks she can muddy."
I thought about Amy on that plastic stool.
The piece of bread falling from her mouth.
"What do we do?" I said.
"We let the paper speak," Grace said.
"Twenty-two months of messages to Garrett Lowe.
Bank records.
A forged will.
A forged signature on a deed.
A licensed notary who has already agreed to cooperate with prosecutors in exchange for reduced charges.
And a cousin who has given a full recorded statement." She paused.
"Connor, her attorney knows this case.
He's trying to create noise because that's all he has left."
"Will it work?"
"Not with this judge."
The arraignment lasted forty minutes.
Teresa stood in a grey blazer, her hair neat, her posture straight.
She had the bearing of a woman who believed that how you looked was how you were perceived, and she had dressed accordingly.
The judge read the charges.
Fraud.
Forgery.
Conspiracy to commit property theft.
Unauthorized use of financial accounts.
The list was longer than I'd expected when Reeves first called me that Friday night.
Teresa's attorney entered a plea of not guilty.
The judge set bail.
As they led her out, Teresa turned and looked directly at me across the courtroom.
Not at her attorney.
Not at the judge.
At me.
"You're making a mistake," she said.
Her voice was controlled, quiet, the way it got when she was certain she was right.
"Family doesn't do this to family."
I held her gaze.
"You did this to our family," I said.
"I'm just the one who stopped it."
Her attorney touched her arm.
She turned away.
I watched her walk through the side door.
That was the last time she spoke to me directly for a long time.
Outside the courthouse, Grace stood beside me on the steps while Amy waited near the car, Frederick in his carrier, squinting at the November sunlight.
"What happens now?" I said.
"Now we wait for the trial date.
Garrett Lowe has already entered a plea agreement — he'll testify.
Donna Marsh, the notary, same.
Mason is cooperating fully." Grace looked at me.
"Connor, I want to be honest with you.
This process will take months.
Possibly longer.
It won't be clean or fast."
"I know."
"But the outcome—" She stopped herself.
"I don't make promises.
But the evidence is what it is."
I nodded.
I walked down the steps toward Amy.
She looked up when she heard me coming.
Frederick turned his head too, tracking the sound of my footsteps with the focused attention he gave everything these days.
"How did she look?" Amy asked.
"The same as always," I said.
"Like she was certain she was right."
Amy adjusted the strap on the carrier.
"Was she?"
"No," I said.
"She wasn't."
We walked to the car.
I buckled Frederick in while Amy stood by the passenger door, looking back at the courthouse.
"I keep thinking about that kitchen," she said quietly.
"That plastic stool."
"I know."
"I kept telling myself — just get through the next hour.
Just get through the next hour." She paused.
"I didn't want to call you because I was afraid of what she'd do."
I closed the car door gently and stood beside her.
"You never have to be afraid of her again," I said.
Amy looked at me for a long moment.
Then she got in the car.
May you like
I stood there one more second, looking at the courthouse, at the stone steps and the heavy doors.
Then I got in and drove us home.
