Chapter 2 - Interrogation in the Living Room
The living room of my house—usually a sanctuary of family warmth—turned into an impromptu precinct interrogation zone. The twenty relatives were seated in rows on the dining chairs, murmuring anxiously among themselves. Gone was the arrogant swagger of aunts and uncles who had spent the afternoon gorging themselves on expensive liquor and grilled ribeye.
Teresa was brought inside, still raging, her gray hair disheveled. She was forced into an armchair across from me.
"Connor! Have you lost your mind?!" she yelled, leaning forward until the handcuffs rattled. "You put your own mother in cuffs over a gold-digger who doesn't even know how to clean a kitchen properly? After everything I sacrificed for you?"
I stood up, holding Frederick—who had finally quieted down, his breathing stabilizing thanks to the paramedics. I looked down at the woman who had raised me, feeling an emotion I hadn't expected: complete and utter detachment.
"You sacrificed nothing, Teresa," I said quietly, using her first name intentionally. "You moved in under the guise of helping us after Frederick was born. But the moment you arrived, you fired our nanny, intercepted our mail, and turned my home into a boarding house for your freeloading siblings."
"I am your mother!" she screeched.
"You are a fraudster," I corrected, opening my laptop and turning the screen toward Sergeant Vance. "Look at this digital ledger. Every month, Teresa diverted funds from my primary account. But more than that... look at the timestamp of the forged deed."
Sergeant Vance stepped closer, scanning the PDF metadata. "November 14th. Late at night."
"Yes," I continued. "The exact night Amy was in the hospital undergoing emergency postpartum observation. I was asleep in the chair beside her bed. Teresa stayed at our house 'taking care of things.' Instead, she broke into my home office, bypassed my biometric lock using my sleeping thumbprint while I visited during visiting hours, and transferred the title."
Gasps echoed through the room. Aunt Betsy, sitting in the front row, tried to shrink into her seat.
"That's a lie!" Betsy shrieked. "Teresa told us the house was her retirement gift! She said Connor was a dutiful son who wanted her to have security!"
"Security?" I laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of warmth. "Betsy, you've been living rent-free in a downtown apartment paid for by my corporate account for two years. Uncle Ray, your truck's down payment came from the same source. Every single one of you leeched off my sweat while my wife was treated like an unpaid slave locked in her own kitchen."
Teresa sneered, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. "And what if I did? A man's money belongs to his family, not some useless girl he picked up off the street. Amy brought nothing to this marriage! No status, no wealth, no pedigree! She deserved to scrub those pots until her hands bled!"
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Before I could respond, the front door opened, and Amy walked in. She had handed Frederick to a female officer in the back for monitoring. Her eyes were red, but her posture was no longer slouched. She stood tall, her gaze fixed entirely on my mother.
"I may not have brought wealth, Teresa," Amy said, her voice steady and echoing clearly off the walls. "But I brought dignity. And unlike you, I built my life with honesty."
