Chapter 7: The Morning Evan Made His Decision
Grace called at seven forty-five the next morning.
I was still in my robe, standing at the kitchen window with coffee I hadn't drunk yet.
"Evan retained an attorney last night," she said.
"His attorney contacted the task force this morning."
"To fight it?"
"To cooperate." A brief pause.
"He's offering a full proffer.
Names, dates, account numbers, his role in each introduction.
In exchange for reduced exposure."
I set the coffee down.
"How many introductions?"
"At least four that he's confirmed so far.
Possibly more.
Preel had a system — he identified targets through hospital discharge lists that he was not legally authorized to access.
Someone inside at least one facility was providing those lists." Grace's voice stayed level.
"Evan didn't pull the lists.
But he knew Preel was working from them.
That's what the task force believes, based on the messages they recovered from his phone."
"They have his messages."
"The subpoena covered his phone records.
Yes." She paused.
"Lauren, I want to be honest with you about what cooperation means for Evan.
It likely means reduced charges, not no charges.
He facilitated financial exploitation of at least four elderly people, one of whom was his own mother.
The federal prosecutor will weigh that."
"Good," I said.
Grace was quiet for a moment.
"How is your mother?"
I looked toward the hallway.
I could hear the television in the guest room — the morning news, low.
"She asked me yesterday if she could plant something in the backyard," I said.
"She said she used to grow tomatoes."
"That's a good sign."
"I know."
After I hung up, I went to the guest room and knocked.
Mom was sitting up in bed, the remote in her lap, not really watching.
"Can I come in?" I asked.
She moved her feet to make room on the edge of the bed.
I sat down.
"Evan called me last night," I said.
"He left a message."
She looked at me.
Her hands folded in her lap.
"He's going to tell the truth about what happened," I said.
"To the people who are investigating."
She was quiet for a long moment.
"Is he in trouble?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly.
Not with satisfaction.
With something more tired than that.
"He was always looking for the easy thing," she said.
"Even when he was small.
I used to think it would change." She looked at the window.
"I kept waiting for it to change."
I didn't say anything.
"The man who came to my room," she said.
"Curtis.
He was very kind.
He brought me a cup of tea from the nurses' station.
He said Evan had told him I was worried about the house." She paused.
"I thought it was strange that Evan hadn't come himself.
But Curtis said Evan was handling the paperwork so I wouldn't have to."
"Mom—"
"I should have called you," she said.
"I thought about it.
But Curtis said you already knew.
And I was so tired." Her voice didn't break.
It just went quiet.
"I was so tired from the hospital, and I just wanted someone to handle it."
I took her hand.
She let me.
"None of this is your fault," I said.
She squeezed my hand once.
Then she looked back at the window.
"I'd like to plant tomatoes," she said.
"If there's room."
"There's room," I said.
"We'll go look this weekend."
I was almost to the door when she spoke again.
"Lauren." I turned.
"What happened to the house?
Can we get it back?"
I had asked Grace the same question two days earlier.
The answer was complicated — a civil action to void the sale on capacity grounds, a potential restitution order if the criminal case succeeded, a timeline measured in months, not weeks.
"We're working on it," I said.
"Grace thinks there's a real chance."
Mom nodded.
"All right," she said.
And turned back to the window.
In the hallway, I leaned against the wall for a moment.
Then I went to find Daniel.
He was at the kitchen table.
The legal pad was almost full.
He looked up when I came in.
"Grace called," I said.
"I heard." He had been in the next room.
"Evan's cooperating."
"Yes."
Daniel set down his pen.
He looked at me for a moment the way he sometimes did — not saying anything, just making sure I was still standing.
"She asked if she could plant tomatoes," I said.
Something in his face shifted.
He stood up and came around the table and put his arms around me.
I didn't cry.
I just stood there for a minute, in the kitchen, with the legal pad full of notes on the table and the morning light coming through the window.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*Ms.
Marsh.
My name is Patricia Odom.
I believe Curtis Preel sold my mother's house too.
I've been trying to find someone who would listen for eight months.
A woman at the county recorder's office gave me your attorney's name.
Please call me.*
I showed it to Daniel.
He read it.
Then he looked at me.
May you like
"Forward it to Grace," he said.
I already was.
