Chapter 9 - Grant Makes His Move
Katherine's letter reached Grant on a Thursday.
Cole told me later he knew the exact day, because Grant called him — not me, Cole — at seven that evening, and the call ran eleven minutes.
I was in the kitchen when Cole came in afterward. He sat down at the table and looked at it for a second before he spoke.
"Tell me," I said.
"He's furious," Cole said. "Says you've been manipulated. Says I've turned you against your own blood. Says Katherine Boyd is a shark who makes her living blowing up families."
"What else?"
"He says the lien is legitimate. That every dollar you gave him over the years was a loan, not a gift. That you agreed to it. That there's paperwork proving it."
"There is no paperwork," I said. "I never agreed to a loan. Not one time."
"I know." Cole looked up. "Here's the part I want you to hear, though. He said if you take this any further, he'll start telling people. Friends. The neighbors. People from church. He'll tell them you've lost your grip. That you're confused. That your youngest son has moved in and taken over your money and cut you off from the rest of the family."
I sat with that.
"He's going to tell people I'm not competent," I said.
"He's going to try to make you the problem," Cole said. "So that anything you say about him gets heard through that filter."
"Does Katherine know?"
"I called her the second he hung up. She said it's a common move. She said it actually helps us, because it shows he knows what he's exposed to and he's trying to get out ahead of it."
My phone lit up. Derek.
I looked at it. Cole looked at it.
"Katherine said don't engage," Cole said.
"I know."
I let it ring out. Then a text came in.
Mom, I don't know what's going on but Grant called me and I think this is a huge misunderstanding. I never wanted you to feel forgotten on your birthday. I feel sick about it. Can we please just talk? I miss you.
I read it twice.
"He feels sick about it," I said.
Cole read it over my shoulder. He didn't say anything.
"He approved Brooke's spa weekend at 7:53," I said. "He felt sick about it at 7:54."
Cole made a short sound. Almost a laugh. Not quite.
"What do I do?" I said.
"Nothing tonight," Cole said. "Tomorrow we go to Katherine's. She wants to walk through the next step."
I put the phone down. I looked at the flowers — Cole's gas-station flowers, fully drooped now, a few petals down on the counter.
"I should throw those out," I said.
"Probably," Cole said.
I didn't. Not yet.
Katherine called before nine the next morning.
"Grant's attorney reached out," she said. "He wants to negotiate."
"Negotiate what?"
"He's proposing the lien be reduced — not removed, reduced — in exchange for you agreeing to drop the elder abuse filing."
Cole was next to me. I put the call on speaker.
"That's not a negotiation," Cole said. "That's damage control."
"It is," Katherine agreed. "I told his attorney we'd consider any proposal that starts with full removal of the lien and a complete accounting of every dollar moved over the last three years. He told me Grant won't agree to that."
"Then we go forward," I said.
"Yes. And there's something else. I've been in contact with Adult Protective Services. They've opened a case. A caseworker will reach out to you directly this week."
"What does that mean for Grant?"
"It means this is no longer just a private lawsuit," Katherine said. "It means there's now a state record. And it means that if Grant tries to tell the world you're incompetent, he'll be doing it while there's an open APS investigation into his own conduct."
I thought about Grant on my porch. We're her family.
May you like
"Good," I said.
And I meant it the way Cole had meant it, days before, at the kitchen table. Clean. No apology in it anywhere.
