Chapter 5: One Dollar
I stared at the number.
One dollar.
Detective Reyes let me look at it without speaking.
Daniel leaned forward and read the document carefully.
His expression didn't change, but his hand moved to his notepad and he wrote something down without looking away from the page.
"Where did this come from?" I asked.
"Mason's jacket pocket," Reyes said.
"He had it folded inside the lining.
We found it during processing last night."
"This is a completed transfer form," Daniel said.
"Who prepared it?"
"We're working on that.
The notary stamp at the bottom is registered to a firm in Brentwood.
We contacted them this morning.
They have no record of this document."
"Meaning the stamp is forged too," I said.
"Meaning someone went to significant effort to make this look legitimate." Reyes folded her hands on the desk.
"Mr.
Bradley, this document, combined with the power of attorney and the deed, suggests a coordinated plan.
Not something improvised.
This was prepared over weeks, possibly months."
Daniel set down his pen.
"Detective, my client needs to understand the full scope of what was being attempted here.
In plain terms."
Reyes looked at me directly.
"In plain terms — if this transfer had been filed with the county recorder's office, and if the power of attorney had been accepted as valid, your mother would have had the legal standing to complete that sale.
She could have transferred your home to herself for one dollar.
And because the power of attorney listed her as your authorized financial agent, she could have argued she had your consent."
The room was very quiet.
"She would have owned my house," I said.
"And had access to your accounts," Reyes said.
"And with the deed in her name, she would have had collateral for any loans or financial moves she chose to make after that."
Amy's hand found my arm under the table.
I thought about the months of phone calls.
Teresa asking how I was doing.
Asking about Frederick.
Sending photos of baby clothes she claimed to have bought.
The warm, familiar voice of a mother who loved her son.
All of it a performance.
All of it a clock ticking down.
"I want to press every charge available," I said.
"That's what I'm here to discuss," Reyes said.
We were there for two hours.
Amy gave her statement first.
She was precise and calm.
She described the document Teresa had brought to the house, the phone call with the threat, the second document she had refused to sign.
Reyes asked follow-up questions.
Amy answered each one without hesitation.
Then I gave mine.
I walked through the bank records, the wire transfer, the device registration, the thirty-six thousand dollars.
Daniel had printed the bank statements that morning and handed them across the desk.
Reyes reviewed each page.
"Mr.
Bradley," she said, "I want to ask you something directly.
Before last night, did you have any suspicion at all that your mother was doing this?"
I thought about it honestly.
"No," I said.
"I thought she was difficult.
I knew she didn't treat Amy well.
But I told myself it was generational.
That she would come around." I paused.
"I was wrong."
Reyes nodded once.
"One more thing," she said.
She slid another printed sheet across the desk.
"We ran Teresa Bradley's name this morning.
She has a prior civil judgment against her in Ohio.
Seven years ago.
A dispute with her sister over their mother's estate."
I looked at the document.
Teresa had contested the will.
She had claimed her mother had signed over the family home to her verbally, without documentation.
The court had ruled against her.
She had tried this before.
With her own mother.
I set the paper down.
Daniel was already writing.
"She lost that case," I said.
"She did," Reyes said.
"But she learned from it.
This time she made sure there was documentation.
She just made sure it was yours."
Outside the station, Daniel stopped on the front steps and turned to face me.
"They're going to charge her today," he said.
"Forgery, fraud, coercion, unauthorized access to financial accounts, and attempted property transfer by deception.
Mason will be charged separately with document forgery and conspiracy."
"What happens now?"
"They'll be arraigned.
Bail will be set.
Teresa will likely make bail — I want you to be prepared for that." He looked at me steadily.
"She is going to call you.
She is going to have family members call you.
She is going to tell you that you're destroying the family.
That Amy manipulated you.
That this is all a misunderstanding."
"And?"
"And you say nothing.
You refer everything to me." He put his hand briefly on my shoulder.
"Connor.
She planned this for at least a year.
Possibly longer.
Don't let one phone call undo twelve months of evidence."
Amy was standing beside the car with Frederick in his carrier, watching a sparrow on the parking lot fence.
She didn't look up until I reached her.
"What did he say?" she asked.
"They're charging her today."
She looked back at the sparrow.
"Good," she said quietly.
Frederick reached up and grabbed the strap of her bag.
She let him.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Unknown number.
I declined it.
It buzzed again immediately.
I turned the screen over and put it in my pocket.
But when we got home, there was already a voicemail waiting.
It was not Teresa.
May you like
It was my aunt Betsy.
And she was crying.
