Chapter 7 - The Account She Nearly Buried
"Another account," I said.
Diane moved to the armchair by the fireplace and sat. Not in defeat — she was too controlled for that. But she sat, which was the first honest thing her body had done all night.
"When you took the overseas contract," she said, "a developer approached me. He was interested in the east section of the grounds. The two acres past the tree line."
I went cold. "That land is on the deed."
"It wasn't part of the main residence. An attorney advised me that as the named household manager — you signed a household management authorization before you left, Daniel, you may not remember—"
"I remember signing something. You told me it was for the utility accounts."
"It covered more than that." She folded her hands in her lap. "The developer paid a hundred and eighty thousand dollars for the parcel. It closed fourteen months after you left."
The number landed in the room like something dropped off a roof.
Sabrina stood up off the arm of the chair. "You sold his land."
"It was sitting there unused. It was—"
"It was his." Sabrina's careful voice was gone. "You sold Daniel's land and you never told him."
"The household needed the funds—"
"The household had eight thousand dollars a month coming in." I crossed the room and stood over her. "Where's the hundred and eighty thousand?"
Diane looked up at me. For the first time all night she looked her age.
"Some of it went to real household costs. The roof needed work, the—"
"Where's the rest?"
A pause. "A portion was invested."
"In whose name?"
She didn't answer.
"In your name," I said. Not a question.
"I meant to tell you when you got back. I planned to present it as — as a return on the estate's assets. A gift, really. A contribution to the family's—"
"You sold my land, kept the money, and were going to hand it back to me wrapped up like a present." I stepped back. "And the whole time, my son was going to bed hungry."
"Cora is perfectly capable of cooking. There was food in the—"
"Don't." Flat and final. "Don't say her name again tonight. Not once."
Diane closed her mouth.
Sabrina walked to the kitchen doorway and looked at the box on the counter. She stood there with her back to us.
"I didn't know about the land," she said. "I want you to hear that. I knew about the account — the rerouted transfers — by the second year. I should have told you. I didn't. That's mine to carry." She turned around. "But I did not know she'd sold the parcel."
"It doesn't matter what you knew," I said. "You watched Cora live in a shed and you said nothing to me."
Sabrina's jaw tightened. She nodded once. She didn't argue.
I picked up my phone. I still had a contact — an attorney I'd used when I bought the place. It was late, but I sent a message. Short.
I need to see you first thing tomorrow. Urgent. It concerns the estate deed, a land sale, and financial fraud in the family. Please confirm.
The reply came back in under four minutes.
Confirmed. 8 a.m. I'll have the deed records pulled tonight.
I looked at my mother. "You're going to write down every account. Every transaction. Every investment. Tonight, before you sleep. Because tomorrow morning an attorney is going to sit across from you and ask you the exact questions I just asked, and the answers you give him will decide what happens to you."
Diane looked at me a long moment. "And if I don't?"
It was the wrong question. The fact that she asked it told me how little of the last hour had actually reached her.
"Then I hand him the box," I said. "And Cora's notebook. And I let him build the picture without you."
Diane looked at the box in the doorway. Her hands came apart in her lap. She looked down at them.
"I'll need paper," she said quietly.
I went to the kitchen, found a legal pad in a drawer, and set it on the table in front of her. She picked up the pen.
And behind me, in the hallway, I heard the front door open.
Cora stood in the entryway with Danny on her hip, the boy half asleep against her shoulder. She'd come back inside.
She looked at Diane sitting there with the pen and the pad. She looked at me.
"Is it done?" she said.
"Not yet," I said. "But it's started."
May you like
She nodded. She shifted Danny higher on her hip and walked past the front room toward the main staircase — the one she hadn't been allowed to use in years — and she carried our son up to bed.
I watched her go. Then I sat down across from my mother and waited for her to start writing.
