I poured four cups of coffee. My hands didn’t shake, and that seemed to unsettle them more than tears would have. I sat down across from Tyler and slid the deed back toward him, untouched. ‘Before I sign anything,’ I said, ‘I’d like you to meet someone.’ Right on cue, the screen door creaked. In walked Diane Hollis, my attorney of twenty-two years, followed by a soft-spoken man in a gray suit carrying a leather folder. Tyler’s smirk flickered. ‘Who the hell is this?’ Diane smiled politely. ‘I’m Mrs. Whitaker’s counsel. And this is Agent Reyes from the state’s Elder Financial Abuse Unit.’ Brittany’s coffee cup froze halfway to her mouth. I folded my hands. ‘Tyler, sweetheart. Do you remember three months ago, when you asked me to co-sign that little loan? The one for your ‘startup’? I did some checking. There is no startup. There’s a gambling debt in Atlantic City, and a very unhappy man named Vincent who’s been calling my house at night.’ Mark’s face went the color of skim milk. I turned to him. ‘And you, Mark. My own son. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice forty-two thousand dollars missing from the trust your father left? Diane noticed six months ago. We’ve been waiting.’ Agent Reyes opened the folder and laid out the forged signatures, the bank transfers, the recorded phone call where Tyler bragged to Brittany about ‘the old bat finally croaking soon.’ Brittany started crying. Tyler started yelling. I just sipped my coffee. ‘The house,’ I said quietly, ‘was deeded to a charitable trust in Walter’s name last spring. It funds scholarships for farm kids. You couldn’t have sold it if I’d signed a thousand papers.’ I stood up and cut four generous slices of peach pie. I slid three of them across the table. ‘Eat up. It might be the last home-cooked meal you get for a while.’ Then I looked at my son, the boy I’d rocked to sleep for years, and I said the hardest words of my life. ‘Agent Reyes, I’d like to press full charges. On all three of them.’
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