Chapter 6
I read the petition three times.
Every sentence felt like an attack.
It claimed I was frequently absent.
Emotionally unstable after my wife's death.
Unable to provide appropriate supervision.
It alleged that Amelia had developmental needs requiring specialized home care.
And it requested that my mother receive temporary authority over her welfare and trust-related decisions.
I looked at Father.
"You were going to sign this?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Did you sign anything else?"
His silence returned.
I stepped back.
"Everett."
He flinched.
It was the first time I had ever addressed him by his first name.
"What did you sign?"
"An affidavit."
My stomach dropped.
"What did it say?"
"That your mother has been Amelia's primary caregiver."
"That's not the same as being her guardian."
"I know."
"Did you say I was incapable of caring for her?"
He began shaking his head.
"Not in those words."
I looked down at the petition.
"Those words are here."
He wiped his eyes.
"I came because I couldn't let this go any further."
I wanted to believe him.
But regret wasn't the same as protection.
"You need to tell Daniel everything," I said.
"I will."
"And you need to stay away from Amelia until we know what happened."
His face crumpled.
"Please, son."
"She needs safety more than you need forgiveness."
I closed the door.
Then I called Daniel.
He came over with an associate the next morning.
By noon, they had obtained a copy of the guardianship filing.
Mother and Patricia had submitted it that morning.
The petition included several alarming attachments.
A behavioral report.
A caregiver assessment.
And photographs of Amelia looking frightened or crying.
Some pictures had been taken in the kitchen.
Others in the hallway.
One showed her sitting on the floor.
The very conditions Mother had created were now being presented as evidence that Amelia needed her supervision.
Daniel studied the documents.
"This appears deeply misleading."
I felt furious.
"She's using my daughter's suffering against me."
"We'll challenge the allegations with records and witnesses."
"How long will that take?"
"We'll move quickly. There's a hearing scheduled."
I stared at him.
"When?"
"Monday morning."
Four days.
Mother intended to use the legal system to regain control of the child she'd been mistreating.
I looked toward the living room.
Amelia was drawing beside Biscuit.
She had no idea that her grandmother was attempting to take her away.
"Daniel, tell me what I need to do."
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
"First, we make sure Amelia is supported. Then we document the facts."
Over the next two days, I barely slept.
I gathered school attendance records.
Travel itineraries.
Phone logs showing my nightly calls.
Messages I had left for Amelia.
Documents proving I provided her home, insurance, education, and daily expenses.
Mrs. Collins agreed to provide information about Amelia's behavior at school.
Claire continued tracing the trust payments.
The numbers were worse than I imagined.
BrightPath had received more than three hundred thousand dollars over multiple quarters.
Some disbursements had been categorized as therapy.
Others as respite care.
A smaller group had gone through a second vendor.
Golden Bridge Learning.
Claire discovered that its mailing address matched an office used by Patricia Voss.
I stared at the reports.
"How could Westbridge allow this?"
"We're still determining which authorization controls failed," Claire said.
Daniel added, "And whether the trustee's records were altered."
That afternoon, Amelia met with Dr. Evelyn Price.
I waited outside the therapist's office while they spoke.
When Amelia emerged, she looked tired.
But she wasn't crying.
Dr. Price spoke to me privately afterward.
"I can't offer conclusions after one session," she explained. "But Amelia has described experiences that warrant careful attention."
I nodded.
"Can she recover from this?"
Dr. Price looked at me kindly.
"Children can heal when they have consistent safety, support, and adults who listen."
I swallowed.
"I want to be that adult."
"Then keep showing up."
Those words stayed with me.
That evening, Amelia asked whether we could make spaghetti.
Together.
I let her stir the sauce while I handled the hot stove.
She accidentally dropped a spoon.
The noise made her jump.
Her shoulders rose.
"I'm sorry!"
I turned off the burner.
"Amelia."
She looked frightened.
"It's just a spoon."
She stared at me.
"You're not mad?"
"No."
I picked it up.
"Watch."
I deliberately dropped it again.
It clattered against the floor.
Amelia gasped.
I smiled.
"See? Still just a spoon."
For one second, she looked confused.
Then she laughed.
It was a small laugh.
But I would have given anything to hear it again.
Sunday evening, Daniel called.
"We found something significant."
"What?"
"Patricia used Nora's old documents to support several payment authorizations."
I sat down.
"How?"
"It appears someone scanned a genuine signature page and reused it with different forms."
I closed my eyes.
Nora had tried to protect Amelia.
Now someone had used the paperwork she signed to take money from her child.
Daniel continued.
"We also found evidence that Patricia may have received commissions through BrightPath."
"Can we prove it?"
"Claire has identified transfers. Investigators will need to establish the full chain."
I stared at Nora's photograph on the mantel.
"She knew Patricia might be involved."
Daniel paused.
"Gabriel, there's something else."
My chest tightened.
"What?"
"Your father has agreed to provide a sworn statement."
I stood.
"Against Mother?"
"Against everyone involved, including himself."
For the first time, I felt something resembling hope.
Then Daniel said, "But Marlene's attorney just filed another declaration."
"From whom?"
"Your brother, Richard."
I froze.
Richard was Bryce and Theo's father.
He lived forty minutes away.
We hadn't spoken much since Nora's funeral.
Daniel continued.
"Richard claims he witnessed you threatening Amelia during a family gathering."
My hands went cold.
"I've never threatened my daughter."
"I believe you."
"Why would Richard say that?"
"I don't know yet."
I looked at the dining table.
Four people had been eating there when I came home.
My parents.
Bryce.
Theo.
And suddenly I remembered the way Bryce had stared at his plate.
As though he knew something.
As though he was afraid to speak.
May you like
I looked at Daniel.
"I need to talk to my nephews."
