Chapter 7: Everything She Had Built
Patricia arrived within the hour.
She sat at our kitchen table with Renee's phone, a legal pad, and a recorder running with Renee's consent.
She read through every message without expression.
When she reached the end, she set the phone down and wrote three lines on her pad.
"How far back do these go?" she said.
"Four months," Renee said.
"The first one is from the week after we found out she was pregnant."
Patricia turned the pad so we could see it.
Three lines.
Three dates.
"This message," she said, tapping the first date, "discusses the trust and refers to a plan to address it before the birth.
This one" — the second date — "specifically mentions the cookout by name, three weeks before it happened.
This one" — the third — "was sent the morning of the cookout.
It says: *Don't lose your nerve.*"
The kitchen was quiet.
"That's premeditation," my husband said.
"Across multiple charges, yes." Patricia capped her pen.
"Renee, I need to ask you something directly, and I need you to answer honestly regardless of what you think the consequences are."
Renee nodded.
"Did your mother ever discuss the substance she put in the food?
Did she name it, describe it, or ask you to obtain it?"
Renee was still for a moment.
"She mentioned something once.
About six weeks ago.
She said she'd read that certain herbal things could be dangerous in pregnancy and that it was frightening how easy they were to get." She paused.
"At the time I thought she was just talking.
Making conversation."
"Did she say anything else?"
"She said — " Renee stopped.
Swallowed.
"She said it was lucky that nobody monitored what pregnant women ate."
Patricia wrote that down word for word.
"I need you to come into my office tomorrow morning and give a formal statement," she said.
"Everything you've told us today, on record.
Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Good." Patricia looked at me.
"The detective is moving to file formal charges.
The bl00dwork comparison came back this morning.
The compound matches."
I heard my own breath go out.
"It matches," I said.
"Conclusively." Patricia folded her hands on the table.
"Your mother's attorney contacted my office an hour ago.
He's proposing a private settlement.
He wants this handled without criminal proceedings."
My husband's chair scraped back from the table.
"No."
"I assumed as much." Patricia allowed herself a small, precise expression that was almost a smile.
"I told him we'd consider it.
I wanted to give you the chance to say it yourselves."
"No settlement," I said.
"No private resolution.
No family solution."
"Understood." She gathered her pad and stood.
"There's one more thing.
The trust." She looked at me steadily.
"Your mother's attorney has filed a motion to delay the trust transfer on the grounds that the birth has not yet occurred and circumstances are in dispute.
It's a delay tactic.
It won't hold.
But I want you to know it exists."
"She's still trying," my husband said.
"She won't stop trying," Patricia said.
"Not until she has no moves left." She picked up her briefcase.
"So we take the moves away.
One at a time."
She left.
Renee was still at the table.
She looked smaller than she had when she arrived.
She looked like someone who had put something down that had been very heavy for a very long time.
"What happens to me?" she said quietly.
I looked at my sister.
"That depends on what you do next," I said.
She nodded.
She already knew.
She picked up her phone and dialed the detective's number herself, right there at my kitchen table, while I sat across from her and listened.
The call connected.
She said her name.
She said she had information.
She didn't look at me while she talked.
May you like
But her hand, when it reached across the table, found mine.
I let her hold it.
