fiction

Chapter 6 - THE FAMILY FIRING SQUAD

True to David’s prediction, the implosion within my family didn't take weeks—it took less than forty-eight hours.

By Tuesday afternoon, my phone—which I had kept on silent mode—began vibrating incessantly with a flurry of missed calls and frantic text messages. I didn't answer any of them. Instead, I sat at the kitchen island with David, who had plugged a secure mobile hotspot into my laptop to monitor public court filings and police blotter updates.

“Call from unknown number” flashed on the screen for the fifth time that hour.

"Let it ring," David advised, sipping his coffee. "Gregory’s defense attorney must have advised him to start cooperating with federal prosecutors. That means he’s singing like a canary about where the money went and who authorized the legal filings."

As if on cue, my phone lit up with a direct text message from Celeste herself:

“Mara, please pick up. Gregory didn't mean to do it. Mother is losing her mind and threatening to disown everyone. Please, we need to talk. I can explain everything about the clinic.”

I stared at the screen, watching the little typing dots appear and disappear as my sister tried desperately to craft an apology that didn't involve taking accountability. I tapped out a single sentence and hit send:

“Tell it to the federal magistrate, Celeste. My lawyer handles all family correspondence now.”

Within two minutes, my phone rang again. This time, it was an incoming call from a landline registered to a downtown holding facility. I didn't hesitate. I slid the green icon and put it on speakerphone, setting it down on the counter between David and me.

"Mara?" A breathless, panicked voice crackled through the speaker. It wasn't Celeste. It was Gregory.

"I'm here, Gregory," I said, my voice ice-cold.

"Mara, listen to me, you have to help me," Gregory babbled, his usual arrogant, country-club swagger completely evaporated, replaced by the pathetic whimper of a man facing twenty years in a federal penitentiary. "I didn't forge those court papers! That was your mother! Beatrice insisted we had to secure custody before the baby was born because she was terrified you'd move out of state with your military transfer!"

David raised an eyebrow across the table, quietly hitting the record button on his legal transcription software.

"Keep going, Gregory," I prompted evenly.

"I swear to God, I just managed the bank transfers because Celeste begged me to help her cover our mortgage!" Gregory babbled frantically. "Your mother drove down to the county courthouse herself and submitted the ex parte petition using a notary friend of hers! I have the text messages, Mara! I have the email chains where Beatrice laid out the entire plan to manipulate your deployment orders!"

"And what about the forty-two thousand five hundred dollars?" I asked.

"Celeste spent half of it on her debt and the rest went into our joint savings!" Gregory cried out. "I didn't even want to do it, but Beatrice pushed us into it! She said you owed the family because the military paid for your education! You can't let them pin this entirely on me—I'll cooperate with the U.S. Attorney, I'll give them everything, but you have to tell your lawyer to ask for leniency!"

"Gregory," I said softly, the silence in the room heavy with vindication. "You spent three years stealing from a deployed service member to fund your lifestyle. You helped my mother plot to steal my newborn son. You made your bed. Now lie in it."

"Mara, wait—!"

I tapped the red disconnect button, cutting off his frantic pleading mid-sentence.

David leaned back in his chair, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his face. "Well, that officially wraps up our evidentiary burden. Gregory just gave us a signed, recorded confession implicating Beatrice directly in the forgery and conspiracy charges."

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"Can we attach that to the civil fraud motion?" I asked.

"We can attach it directly to the criminal referral packet I'm sending over to the district attorney's office in twenty minutes," David said, closing his briefcase with a satisfying snap. "Your mother wanted to play high-stakes legal chess using your child as a pawn. Now she’s about to find out what happens when the board gets flipped over."

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