Lucy slowly reached for a dinner roll.
Her hands shook so badly she dropped it.
I quietly placed another one on her plate.
She whispered,
“Thank you.”
Nobody else spoke.
Finally my mother cleared her throat.
“So…”
“When does the money arrive?”
“There it is,” I answered.
“What?”
“The real question.”
She looked embarrassed.
“I was just curious.”
“Tomorrow.”
Brianna nearly choked on her drink.
“So soon?”
“Very soon.”
She exchanged a quick glance with my mother.
Neither realized I noticed.
After dinner my mother suddenly became affectionate.
She hugged me.
Asked about Canada.
Talked about family vacations.
Even apologized.
“I’m sure we’ve all made mistakes.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“We’ve all made mistakes.”
At nine o’clock there was a knock on the door.
My mother frowned.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“Yes.”
I walked over and opened it.
Three people entered.
A police detective.
A forensic accountant.
And an attorney.
My mother’s smile disappeared.
“Nathan…”
“What’s going on?”
I turned toward everyone.
“I forgot to mention something.”
“The settlement money isn’t mine yet.”
“What?”
“It hasn’t been released because the insurance company requires an investigation into possible financial abuse.”
Nobody moved.
I continued calmly.
“They wanted proof that the money I’d already been sending home was used for its intended purpose.”
Brianna’s face lost all color.
My attorney placed a thick folder on the dining table.
“I’ve spent the last six months gathering bank records.”
My mother stared.
“Bank… records?”
“Every transfer.”
Every withdrawal.
Every vehicle purchase.
Every salon renovation.
Every luxury vacation.
Every jewelry receipt.
Every payment made from the account I trusted you to manage.”
The accountant slid photographs across the table.
The SUV.
The remodeled kitchen.
Designer handbags.
Salon equipment.
Credit card statements.
Then came medical records.
Exactly two oncology appointments.
Nothing more.
The detective spoke quietly.
“Mrs. Theresa Barnes…”
“We have enough evidence to begin a criminal investigation into theft, fraud, financial exploitation, and possible neglect resulting in serious bodily harm.”
My mother grabbed the edge of the table.
“You can’t…”
“It was family money!”
“No,” I interrupted.
“It was my wife’s cancer treatment.”
Brianna burst into tears.
“We were going to pay it back!”
“With what?”
“The salon hasn’t made a profit.”
She couldn’t answer.
My mother suddenly pointed at Lucy.