Chapter 9 - THE WIFE SHE WANTED ME TO HATE
The plan was cruel because it did not require me to believe everything.
Only enough.
Teresa intended to create fraudulent transfers from one of my accounts into an online account opened under Amy’s name.
Then she would “discover” the missing money.
At the same time, she wanted Amy to sign temporary guardianship documents for Frederick.
If I believed Amy had stolen from me, Teresa expected I would force Amy out.
Then Teresa would control the baby temporarily.
Temporary could become permanent if the right accusations followed.
Neglect.
Financial instability.
Mental health concerns.
Anything that sounded believable.
Anything supported by forged documents and carefully selected recordings.
My mother wanted to manufacture the collapse of my marriage.
Then stand in the center of the wreckage as the person I trusted most.
It was so calculated that I struggled to connect it with the woman who had raised me.
The woman who packed my school lunches.
The woman who sat in the front row when I graduated from Tennessee Tech.
The woman who cried at my wedding.
Had she changed?
Or had I simply never seen the part of her that appeared when control mattered more than love?
Amy listened to Mason’s statement later that evening.
She did not cry.
That worried me more than tears.
She simply sat on the hotel bed while Frederick slept in the portable crib.
“So that was the goal.”
“Yes.”
“She wanted you to hate me.”
“Yes.”
Amy looked toward our son.
“And she wanted him.”
I nodded.
Amy stood.
“She can never be around him again.”
“She won’t.”
“No, Connor.”
She turned toward me.
“I need you to say it.”
I understood.
“My mother will never be around Frederick again.”
“Even if she apologizes?”
“Yes.”
“Even if your family pressures you?”
“Yes.”
“Even if she gets sick?”
I hesitated only because the question was painful.
Amy saw the hesitation.
I answered.
“She will never have access to our son again.”
Amy nodded.
That was the boundary.
Not revenge.
Protection.
The next problem was the rest of my family.
My phone had become a battlefield.
Some relatives apologized.
Others demanded that I drop the charges.
One uncle said Teresa had “made mistakes.”
Another said sending police to arrest my own mother was shameful.
A cousin told me Amy should forgive Teresa because “family comes first.”
I replied with the same sentence every time.
“My wife and son are my family.”
Then Aunt Betsy called.
I almost did not answer.
Amy told me to.
“Put it on speaker.”
Betsy began without greeting me.
“You’ve gone too far.”
I looked at Amy.
“Have I?”
“Your mother could go to prison.”
“She committed crimes.”
“She was protecting you.”
“From my wife?”
“Yes.”
Amy’s face tightened.
I said, “Explain how forcing Amy to scrub dishes while holding a sick baby protected me.”
Betsy went quiet.
Then she said, “Amy always exaggerates.”
Amy leaned toward the phone.
“I’m right here, Betsy.”
Silence.
Then Betsy changed direction.
“We all helped with the party.”
Amy laughed softly.
“You ate.”
Betsy snapped, “I brought decorations.”
“And I cooked for twenty people while Frederick had a fever.”
“You should have told us he was sick.”
“I did.”
That stopped Betsy.
Amy continued.
“I told Teresa at noon.”
“She said the party would continue because people had already been invited.”
Betsy said nothing.
“I told you at three.”
Amy’s voice remained calm.
“You told me children get fevers all the time.”
Betsy began, “I didn’t realize—”
“You didn’t care.”
Another silence.
Then I asked the question I had been waiting to ask.
“Did you know about the guardianship papers?”
“No.”
“The forged debt?”
“No.”
“The fake deed?”
“No.”
“Glenn Parker?”
A pause.
Tiny.
But obvious.
I looked at Amy.
She heard it too.
“Betsy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know Glenn.”
“No.”
“Police have video.”
Another pause.
Then the call ended.
Amy stared at the phone.
“She hung up.”
I immediately called Detective Cole.
By the next morning, investigators had pulled phone records.
Aunt Betsy had spoken to Glenn Parker forty-seven times in six months.
And three days before Frederick’s birthday, she had sent him a text.
May you like
It contained only six words.
Friday is the best chance we’ll get.
