Chapter 8: The Family Meeting
The next morning, my mother called.
I knew she would.
People like Teresa didn’t disappear when they lost control.
They tried harder.
I answered.
“Hello?””
Her voice sounded calm.
Too calm.
“Connor, I think we need to stop this.””
I looked at the folder on my desk.
“Stop what?””
“Whatever your attorney is putting in your head.””
I almost smiled.
“You know about Rebecca.””
A pause.
“Yes.””
That single word told me everything.
“You’ve been watching me.””
“No.””
“Then how did you know?””
Silence.
Again.
That was becoming my mother’s favorite answer.
“Connor, come meet me.””
“No.””
“We need to talk face-to-face.””
“Why?””
“Because I’m still your mother.””
I looked at the family photo on my desk.
Amy.
Frederick.
Me.
The family I chose.
“I’ll meet you.””
Amy looked concerned when I told her.
“You’re going alone?””
“Yes.””
“Connor—”
“I need answers.””
She grabbed my hand.
“Promise me you won’t let her make you feel guilty.””
I looked at her.
“I promise.””
I met Teresa at a quiet restaurant downtown.
She was already sitting there.
Perfect hair.
Perfect clothes.
Perfect smile.
Like nothing had happened.
“You look tired,” she said.
I sat down.
“You tried to take my house.””
Her smile faded.
“Straight to accusations.””
“Straight to the truth.””
She looked around.
“Who told you about your father?””
I didn’t answer.
That made her nervous.
Good.
“You found the documents.””
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.””
She leaned back.
“Your father was paranoid.””
“My father was protecting me.””
“No.””
Her voice sharpened.
“Your father was afraid.””
“Of you?””
Her eyes narrowed.
“You have no idea what happened.””
“Then tell me.””
She looked away.
For the first time, she looked less like a powerful woman and more like someone cornered.
“Your father wanted to leave me with nothing.””
“Is that what you tell yourself?””
She looked back.
“He trusted strangers more than his own wife.””
“Did he trust them more than you because you were moving money?””
Her face changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
“You don’t understand finances.””
“I understand my money disappearing.””
She lowered her voice.
“You think Amy is innocent?””
I stayed silent.
She continued.
“She’s been influencing you.””
“No.””
“She wants everything you built.””
“No.””
“She’s the reason you’re turning against your family.””
I looked at her.
“No.””
My mother stopped.
Because my answer came too quickly.
I leaned forward.
“The reason I’m turning against you is because I saw my wife holding our sick baby while you made her serve people in her own home.””
Her expression hardened.
“That was one mistake.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“That was the moment I finally saw everything.””
She looked down.
Then whispered:
“You don’t know what Amy did.””
I froze.
“What?””
Teresa reached into her purse.
She pulled out an envelope.
“I found this months ago.””
She pushed it across the table.
“What is it?””
“Something your wife never told you.””
I stared at the envelope.
My mother watched carefully.
“You should open it.””
I didn’t move.
“Why?””
“Because if you knew the truth, you wouldn’t look at her the same way.””
My phone buzzed.
A message from Amy.
*Connor, please come home. Something happened.*
I looked at Teresa.
Then at the envelope.
My mother smiled slightly.
“Go ahead.””
I stood.
“I’ll find out the truth.””
As I walked away, Teresa called after me.
“Connor.””
I stopped.
“You always believed your wife was the victim.””
I turned.
Her expression was unreadable.
“But what if she was just better at hiding things than I was?””
I left without answering.
When I arrived home, Amy was standing near the front door.
Her face was pale.
“What happened?””
She looked at the envelope in my hand.
Then she froze.
“Where did you get that?””
My heartbeat changed.
“You know this?””
Amy’s eyes filled with fear.
“Connor…”
I stepped closer.
“What’s inside?””
She looked away.
And in a voice barely above a whisper, she said:
“The one thing I was terrified you would find out.””
I opened the envelope.
And the first page inside had a date.
A date from before Amy and I ever met.
May you like
And a name at the top.
My father’s.
