Chapter 9 - THE COUSIN WHO NEVER CAME TO THE PARTY
Rebecca Webb had not attended Frederick’s birthday.
She claimed she had food poisoning.
At the time, nobody questioned it.
Now her absence looked different.
Sean asked Rebecca to come into the office.
He did not accuse her.
He simply told her some records had been accessed improperly.
According to Sean, she turned pale before he even mentioned which records.
That was enough for him to call his attorney.
Detective Ortiz handled the rest.
Rebecca initially denied giving anyone confidential information.
Then investigators showed her an email.
It came from her work account.
Attached was the operating agreement.
The recipient was Mason.
Her younger brother.
Rebecca began crying.
She claimed Mason told her I needed the document for refinancing.
She never confirmed it with me.
She never confirmed it with Sean.
She simply sent it.
That alone was bad.
But the email chain contained something worse.
Mason had replied.
Mom says this is the last piece Vance needs.
Rebecca answered.
Tell her I’m done after this.
Mom.
Not Aunt Teresa.
Mom.
Aunt Betsy.
I had spent days thinking Betsy was merely Teresa’s helper.
Now it appeared she had been actively involved.
Rebecca told Ortiz the scheme had created arguments inside her family for months.
She said Betsy repeatedly talked about how Amy had “stolen Connor away.”
She said Teresa believed my success should benefit the extended family.
She said both women resented that Amy and I had begun spending holidays with Amy’s parents in Kentucky.
And she said something I never expected.
Teresa was in debt.
Serious debt.
I stared at Ortiz when she told me.
“How serious?”
“At least ninety thousand dollars that we know about.”
“How?”
“Credit cards.”
“Why?”
“Spending.”
“What spending?”
“Clothing.”
“Travel.”
“Restaurants.”
“Gifts.”
“And transfers.”
“To who?”
“We’re tracing them.”
For years, my mother presented herself as financially comfortable.
My father had left her the house where I grew up.
She received retirement income.
She repeatedly told everyone she had no mortgage.
But appearances had consumed her.
Every family event became more expensive.
Every Christmas became a competition.
Every outfit needed admiration.
Every dinner needed an audience.
After Frederick was born, she found a new source of status.
Being the grandmother who “supported” her successful son’s household.
With my money.
I sent three thousand dollars.
She spent it publicly.
Then she told relatives she was rescuing us.
The lie made her look powerful.
And the debt made the lie necessary.
“Was she planning to use the home equity loan to pay her debt?”
I asked Ortiz.
“Possibly.”
“What about the four-hundred-thousand-dollar Vance proposal?”
“We don’t have the full picture.”
“Does Vance?”
“He’s refusing voluntary interviews.”
Of course he was.
His attorney had contacted investigators.
No questions without counsel.
No documents without legal process.
No cooperation beyond what was required.
But Mason was talking.
Fear had made him useful.
According to Mason, Vance promised Teresa something called asset consolidation.
The term sounded respectable.
The reality was different.
If the house transferred into Bradley Family Holdings, Vance planned to arrange loans secured against the property.
If enough control over my company interest could be established through forged authorization or pressure, he would attempt to include business distributions as repayment support.
Teresa expected cash.
Vance expected fees.
Mason expected a percentage.
Betsy expected something too.
“What did Betsy want?”
I asked.
Ortiz looked at her notes.
“Thirty thousand dollars.”
“For helping steal my life?”
“I’m telling you what Mason claims.”
“What did Rebecca get?”
“Nothing that we’ve found.”
“So she handed over company records because her mother asked.”
“Yes.”
I looked away.
Family loyalty had become a weapon.
Teresa said help me.
Betsy helped.
Betsy said help us.
Rebecca helped.
Nobody stopped to ask whether helping one relative meant destroying another.
That afternoon, Amy received a message from an unknown number.
YOU WILL REGRET WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO THIS FAMILY.
She showed me immediately.
Old Amy might have deleted it.
Old Amy might have hidden it to avoid conflict.
This Amy took a screenshot and forwarded it to Melissa and Ortiz.
I was proud of her.
But she did not need praise.
She needed peace.
The number turned out to be prepaid.
Then another message arrived.
Frederick deserves his grandmother.
Another.
A good wife does not send her husband’s mother to jail.
Another.
Connor will eventually understand what you caused.
Amy looked at me.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Think I caused this?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
I moved closer.
“My mother stole documents from our home.”
“She forged my signature.”
“She lied about you.”
“She tried to manipulate custody of our son.”
“She tried to use my property as her bank account.”
“You didn’t cause any of that.”
Amy nodded.
Then she asked.
“Would you have said that six months ago?”
The question hurt because I could not answer quickly.
She noticed.
“That’s what scares me.”
“What?”
“If she hadn’t become greedy enough to steal the house, would you ever have believed me?”
I looked at her.
I could have lied.
Instead, I said.
“I don’t know.”
Amy’s eyes filled.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not pretending.”
That evening, I received my own anonymous message.
Your wife is turning you against your blood.
I stared at it.
Then another arrived.
Your father would be ashamed.
My father had been dead for six years.
Teresa invoked him whenever she wanted obedience.
Dad believed family came first.
Dad would never tolerate disrespect.
Dad sacrificed everything for us.
I had heard those sentences my entire adult life.
Then a third message appeared.
Ask Amy why she already spoke to a divorce lawyer.
I turned toward her.
She saw my expression.
“What happened?”
I handed her the phone.
She read the message.
Her face changed.
“Connor.”
“Did you?”
She did not answer immediately.
My stomach tightened.
“Amy.”
“Yes.”
The word landed softly.
But it landed.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
The same time she almost left.
“Why?”
“I needed to know my rights.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was scared.”
“Of me?”
She looked at me carefully.
“Of what you would choose.”
I sat down.
“Did you plan to divorce me?”
“I didn’t know.”
The room became silent.
Then Amy said.
“Teresa didn’t invent every crack in our marriage.”
That hurt.
Because she was right.
“She exploited them.”
“Yes.”
“But some were already there.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward Frederick’s room.
“What did the lawyer tell you?”
“That if I wanted to leave, I needed documentation.”
“Is that why you made the folder?”
“Partly.”
I nodded slowly.
Then my phone rang.
It was Detective Ortiz.
“We traced the anonymous messages.”
“To Teresa?”
“No.”
“To Betsy?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Ortiz paused.
“Charles Vance.”
I stared at the screen.
“Why would he care whether Amy and I stay married?”
“Because according to Mason, your divorce was not a side effect of the plan.”
“It was necessary.”
I understood before she answered.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Amy is co-owner of the house.”
The room went cold.
Ortiz continued.
“As long as Amy remained legally involved and actively objected, transferring clean control became much more difficult.”
I looked at my wife.
“So they needed her gone.”
“Yes.”
Then Ortiz added one final detail.
“And Connor?”
“What?”
“Mason claims Vance had already chosen the divorce attorney Teresa planned to recommend to you.”
I almost laughed.
“Who?”
Ortiz gave me the name.
I recognized it.
May you like
Because it was the same attorney Amy had consulted two months earlier.
*
