Chapter 7: What She Said When She Thought She Could Still Win
Patricia held the receiver slightly away from her ear so I could hear.
"This is Patricia Reyes."
A pause.
Then Evelyn's voice, careful and warm.
"I'm sorry to bother you.
I'm trying to reach my son, Jason Vance.
I believe he may have come to speak with you."
"What makes you think that?"
"He called me yesterday from his daughter's school.
He seemed upset.
He's been under a great deal of stress with work, and I'm worried about him." A small, practiced sigh.
"He sometimes gets confused when he's overwhelmed.
He can misread situations."
Patricia looked at me.
I kept my face still.
"I see," Patricia said.
"And what situation do you think he may have misread?"
"The school has been filling Maya's head with ideas.
They don't understand our family dynamic.
Jason sends what he can, but it's irregular — it always has been.
I've been covering the gaps for years.
I've sacrificed a great deal to raise that girl." Her voice warmed further.
"I love my granddaughter.
I've given her everything I have."
"Everything you have," Patricia repeated.
"Yes.
And now some school counselor has Jason thinking there's something wrong, when really he just doesn't understand how much I've managed on his behalf." A pause.
"Is he there?
I just want to talk to him.
Clear things up."
Patricia looked at me one more time.
I shook my head.
"Mr.
Vance isn't available right now," Patricia said.
"But I'd encourage you to speak with your own attorney, Mrs.
Vance.
You may be receiving some correspondence in the next few days that you'll want legal guidance on."
Silence.
When Evelyn spoke again, the warmth was gone.
"What kind of correspondence?"
"The kind that outlines certain financial and legal concerns in detail.
Have a good evening."
Patricia set the phone down.
Maya had been sitting perfectly still.
"She didn't ask about me," she said.
"She called to manage Dad.
She didn't ask if I was okay."
Nobody answered her.
Nobody needed to.
The demand letter went out the following morning.
Dennis and Patricia had drafted it together overnight — twelve pages, itemized, with copies of the wire transfer records, the school documentation, and the property deed attached.
It requested a full accounting of all funds received, return of provable misappropriated amounts, and a meeting within ten business days.
Evelyn called me four times that day.
I let all four go to voicemail.
The fifth call came at nine in the evening.
I was sitting in the motel room with Maya, who had come over after dinner to look through the bank records with me.
She had a yellow legal pad and was making her own notes, column by column, year by year.
I answered on speaker.
"Jason." Evelyn's voice was different now.
Tight.
"I received a letter from two attorneys today."
"I know."
"This is a mistake.
Whatever they've told you—"
"Evelyn.
I was at Maya's school.
I saw the forms.
I saw your signature.
I saw the property receipt."
A long pause.
"I can explain the property."
"Then explain it."
"I had savings.
From before your father died.
I'd been putting money aside for years and I never told anyone because I didn't want to be pressured to give it away." Her voice steadied.
"I used my own savings for that house.
The money you sent went to Maya.
Every cent."
"She's been enrolled in a free lunch program for four years."
"Because I didn't want her to feel different from the other children.
Some of her friends were on that program and she wanted to join them.
It was a social thing."
Maya looked up from the legal pad.
Her jaw was tight.
"She saves half her lunch in her backpack," I said.
"She soaks it in hot water to soften it in the afternoon.
Mrs.
Ortega has watched her do it for years."
Silence.
"She's a dramatic child," Evelyn said.
"She does things for attention."
Maya stood up from the bed.
She walked to the window and stood with her back to me, arms crossed, looking out at the parking lot.
"I'm going to give you one opportunity," I said.
"Tell me the truth.
All of it.
Where the money went, what you spent it on, what else you've hidden.
If you do that, we can talk about how to handle this privately."
"There is nothing to tell.
I raised your daughter for five years while you were off building your career.
I deserve some compensation for that."
"Compensation."
"Yes.
I gave up my life.
My freedom.
My retirement years.
You owe me for that."
I looked at Maya's back.
Her shoulders had gone rigid.
"You hid birthday cards from her," I said.
"You told her I abandoned her.
You changed the phone number on her school file so I couldn't be reached.
You told her I had a new family and didn't want to be reminded of her."
A pause.
"I was protecting her.
You were unreliable.
I didn't want her getting attached and then being disappointed."
"She ate bread soaked in water for lunch."
"That is an exaggeration."
"Evelyn.
I watched her do it through a window."
The line went quiet for a long time.
Then her voice changed again.
Lower.
Harder.
"You want to take me to court?
Fine.
I'll tell them what kind of father leaves a grieving ten-year-old with her grandmother and disappears for five years.
I'll tell them about the calls you missed.
The birthdays you didn't show up for."
"The birthdays you told me Maya didn't want me at."
"Your word against mine."
"And the cards you kept in the closet?"
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"You go near my house," she said quietly, "and I will call the police."
"You're welcome to," I said.
"Patricia Reyes will be very interested in that call."
I ended the call.
Maya turned around from the window.
Her eyes were wet but her voice was steady.
"She's not going to admit it, is she."
"Not voluntarily."
"So what do we do?"
"We let the attorneys work.
And we wait for her to make a mistake." I paused.
"She already made one tonight."
"What?"
"She admitted she knew about the cards."
Maya stared at me.
"She said to stay away from her house.
She didn't ask what cards.
She knew exactly what I meant."
Maya sat back down on the edge of the bed.
She looked at the legal pad in her lap.
Then she picked up the pen and wrote something at the top of the page.
May you like
She turned it so I could see.
*She knew the whole time.*
