Chapter 3: The Year Before
Betsy's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Connor, this started before Frederick was even born."
I heard the words.
It took a moment for them to land.
"What do you mean before he was born?"
She pressed her lips together and looked past me at Teresa, who was now arguing with two officers near the front steps.
Then Betsy looked back at me.
"When Amy was six months pregnant, your mother called a family meeting.
Here.
At your house.
You were away on that work trip to Denver."
"I don't know anything about a family meeting."
"You weren't supposed to." Betsy pulled her cardigan tighter.
"She told us Amy wasn't fit to be a mother.
That Amy was spending your money recklessly.
That she'd already found a lawyer and needed the family behind her."
My chest went cold.
"She said she was going to have Amy declared an unfit parent after the baby came.
Take custody of the child.
And once she had the baby, she'd have leverage over the house."
I turned and looked at Amy in the car.
She had her cheek resting against the top of Frederick's head.
Her eyes were still closed.
She had no idea what I was hearing.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Betsy's chin dropped.
"Because I was afraid of her.
Connor, we're all afraid of her.
You know what she's like when she doesn't get what she wants."
I did know.
I had always known.
I had just never let myself say it plainly.
"Who else was at that meeting?"
"Mason.
Your uncle Roy.
Cousin Diane.
And—" She stopped.
"And who?"
"Your father's lawyer.
Gerald Fitch."
The name hit me like cold water.
Gerald Fitch had handled my father's estate.
He was the one who had transferred the house into my name after my father passed.
He was the only person outside of a title company who would have known exactly how to alter that deed.
"Betsy, are you saying Fitch helped her forge that document?"
She didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
An officer appeared at my shoulder.
"Sir, we need you to come look at something."
I held up one finger.
"One second." I looked back at Betsy.
"I need you to say this to them.
To the police.
Everything you just told me."
Her face went white.
"Connor, I can't.
She'll never forgive me."
"Betsy." I kept my voice level.
"My son is in that car with a fever because my wife wasn't allowed to stop working long enough to take him to a doctor.
I need you to tell them what you know."
She looked at her hands.
"Please," I said.
A long silence.
A car passed on the street.
One of the relatives near the front door started crying loudly, which made Teresa snap at her to stop.
Betsy finally nodded.
One small, tight nod.
I turned to the officer.
"She has information about the deed.
She's willing to give a statement."
The officer looked at Betsy.
"Ma'am, if you'll come with me."
Betsy walked forward.
She didn't look at Teresa.
Teresa saw it happen.
From across the yard, her eyes tracked Betsy moving toward the police.
Her expression shifted — not to anger, not yet.
To something colder.
Calculating.
She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out her phone.
I watched her dial.
She turned her back to me and spoke quietly into the phone.
May you like
I couldn't hear the words.
But I knew exactly who she was calling.
