Chapter 13 - The Ghost on the Wire
My mother stared at the phone screen in my hand, her eyes reflecting the orange glow of the soapstone fireplace. For a long, agonizing moment, neither of us spoke. The wind howled softly against the reinforced double-pane windows, pushing a flurry of dry snow across the glass like tiny, frantic fingers tapping for entry.
"She still doesn't understand," Mom whispered, her voice cracking as she pressed her wrinkled hands into her lap. "Even now, with federal marshals circling their lives and Jason sitting in a holding cell downtown, she thinks money is just something you can ask for and magically receive."
"She thinks everyone else exists to clean up her messes," I said, my voice steady. I tapped the screen, blocking the burner number instantly without sending a single word in reply. "She’s spent thirty-four years believing that charm and tears are valid currencies. The real world doesn't care about either."
"Should we... should we check on the children?" Mom asked, her voice heavy with maternal guilt. "My grandchildren are innocent in all of this, Becca. They shouldn't have to freeze because their father was a criminal."
"They aren't freezing," I replied, walking over to pour myself a fresh cup of coffee from the French press. "Child Protective Services hasn't intervened, and Olivia’s mother-in-law in Vail has a multi-million-dollar estate she’s been hiding assets in for years. Olivia just doesn't want to swallow her pride and ask her husband's family for help because they'll treat her like a failure. She’d rather manipulate you into draining your retirement account instead."
Diane looked down at her hands, her shoulders slumping. For years, she had enabled Olivia's endless cycle of financial recklessness, bailing her out with money left behind by my father, convincing herself that she was keeping the peace. It had taken a mountain cabin, a forged power of attorney, and a federal indictment to finally break the spell.
"I called my financial advisor yesterday," Mom said quietly, surprising me.
I turned around, leaning against the wooden counter. "Oh? About what?"
"I told him to freeze all joint access on the remaining accounts," she said, looking up with a firm, determined glint in her eyes that I hadn't seen in decades. "And I instructed him to transfer my primary living trust into a secure account with your name as secondary executor. No more blank checks. No more emergency loans for 'business investments' that turn out to be luxury cars and country club memberships."
I studied her face, looking for any sign of hesitation or lingering manipulation. There was none. The mountain air and the stark reality of her favorite child's betrayal had finally forged a new kind of pragmatism in her.
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"Good," I said, taking a sip of my dark roast coffee. "Because if you had given them another cent, I would have had to buy you a bus ticket back to Denver myself."
A faint, self-deprecating smile touched the corners of my mother's mouth. "Fair enough, Becca. Fair enough."
