Chapter 8 - Teresa Comes Home
At 2:14 the next morning, our alarm went off.
Amy sat straight up.
“What was that?”
I grabbed my phone.
GARAGE DOOR ATTEMPT.
Someone had entered the old code.
Then tried again.
And again.
I opened the camera feed.
My mother stood outside.
She wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and no makeup.
I had never seen Teresa look so ordinary.
That somehow made her more frightening.
She stared directly into the camera.
“Connor.”
I didn’t answer.
“Open the door.”
Amy whispered, “Call the police.”
I already had.
Mom knocked.
“Connor, I know you’re watching.”
I used the intercom.
“Leave.”
“We need to talk.”
“No.”
“She’s turned you against me.”
Amy closed her eyes.
I said, “You were recorded inside my son’s room.”
Silence.
Then Teresa looked at the camera.
For the first time, her mask slipped completely.
“You found that?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes changed.
Not shame.
Calculation.
Then she smiled.
“You don’t know what you think you know.”
“You forged my signature.”
“I protected your assets.”
“You tried to steal my house.”
“I tried to stop that woman from taking it.”
Amy stepped closer to the microphone.
“That woman has a name.”
Mom looked toward the camera.
“Amy.”
The hatred in her voice was so casual it made my stomach turn.
Amy spoke clearly.
“You don’t scare me anymore.”
Mom smiled.
“We’ll see.”
Police lights appeared at the end of the street.
Mom immediately walked toward a car parked half a block away.
But she wasn’t fast enough.
Officers stopped her.
Detective Ortiz arrived shortly after.
This time Teresa didn’t resist.
As an officer placed her in the back seat, she looked at me.
“You think arresting me fixes this?”
I didn’t respond.
She leaned closer to the window.
“You still don’t know who started it.”
The car pulled away.
I stood in the driveway.
Amy wrapped her arms around herself.
“What did she mean?”
“I don’t know.”
We found out the next morning.
Marcus called at 7:30.
“There’s a problem.”
That phrase was becoming the soundtrack of my life.
“What now?”
“The Legacy Trust predates Frederick.”
I sat up.
“What?”
“By almost six years.”
“That’s impossible.”
“The current document is altered, but the original entity exists.”
“Who created it?”
A pause.
“Your father.”
I stopped.
My father, James Bradley, had died five years earlier.
Marcus continued.
“The trust was formed eight months before his death.”
“For what?”
“I’m still digging.”
Then he said something I never expected.
“Connor, your father named you beneficiary.”
I exhaled.
“So Mom changed it?”
“Possibly.”
“What assets are in it?”
Marcus was silent for several seconds.
“According to the original filing…”
He swallowed.
“Property your father never told you about.”
“How much property?”
“Enough that your mother may not have been trying to steal only your house.”
I stood.
“How much, Marcus?”
His answer left me staring at the wall.
May you like
“About four million dollars.”
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