Chapter 4 - WHAT THEY STOLE FROM MASON
Jean had always been introduced as a burden.
Poor Jean.
Widowed Jean.
Jean with two children and nowhere to go.
Jean who should be grateful Mrs. Gable took her in.
Jean who needed help but never seemed allowed to touch her own mail.
I had watched Mrs. Gable open Jean’s envelopes at the kitchen counter.
“She gets overwhelmed,” she said once when I stared too long.
Jean had lowered her eyes.
I thought it was embarrassment.
Now I wondered if it was fear.
Mason’s father, Samuel, died three years earlier in a warehouse accident.
There was a lawsuit.
I knew that much.
Mrs. Gable told everyone the settlement barely covered funeral costs.
Jean never contradicted her.
But the documents Naomi found told a different story.
There had been a settlement.
Not enormous.
But enough.
Enough for a protected custodial account for Mason and Kayla.
Enough for education.
Housing support.
Medical care.
Enough that Jean should not have been sleeping in my office while Mrs. Gable complained about my grocery budget.
Mrs. Gable had been appointed a “family financial helper” because Jean was grieving and overwhelmed.
Austin, who claimed to understand investments, helped set up accounts.
Blake witnessed documents.
Money moved.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
Tuition deposits that did not belong to Mason.
Credit card payments.
A down payment on Austin’s truck.
A transfer to Mrs. Gable labeled household reimbursement.
A payment toward Blake’s private loan.
I stared at the report Naomi’s investigator compiled that night.
Blake had taken money from Mason too.
Not directly, he would later claim.
Not knowingly, he would insist.
But there was his name.
There was the transfer.
There was the signature.
That was the disgusting betrayal.
Not that they wanted my money.
Not that they crowded my home.
Not that Mrs. Gable treated me like a servant with a salary.
It was that they had been stealing from a child while using that child’s birthday party to pressure me into covering the theft.
Mason’s cake had been paid for by me.
His balloons had been taped to my fence.
His family had sung Happy Birthday while plotting to replace the money they stole from his future.
I drove home from urgent care with Naomi behind me.
Blake had offered to drive me.
I told him no.
When we reached the house, the party was over.
Paper plates lay in trash bags.
The patio had been rinsed, but a faint pink streak remained between two stones where my blood had mixed with melted frosting.
Mrs. Gable was in the kitchen with Blake and Austin.
Jean sat at the dining table with Mason and Kayla, both children silent.
The room stopped when I entered.
Mrs. Gable’s eyes went straight to the stitches.
Then away.
Blake stepped forward.
“Mackenzie, can we talk privately?”
“No.”
“Mack—”
“I know about Mason’s settlement.”
Jean looked up sharply.
Mrs. Gable’s face emptied.
Austin whispered, “Don’t.”
I looked at Jean.
“Did you know money was missing?”
Her lips parted.
Mrs. Gable snapped, “She’s confused.”
Jean stood.
Her chair scraped the floor.
“What money?”
Mason looked at his mother.
Kayla started crying again.
I hated that children were hearing adult ugliness.
I hated more that adult ugliness had already been living off them.
Naomi stepped beside me.
“Jean, my name is Naomi Pierce. I’m an attorney. I believe you need independent counsel immediately. Do not take advice from anyone in this room.”
Mrs. Gable slammed her hand on the counter.
“How dare you come into my son’s house and—”
“My house,” I said.
She froze.
I repeated it.
“My house. My kitchen. My office. My name on the deed. My name on the loan they tried to forge. My blood on the patio.”
Blake’s voice cracked.
“Mackenzie, stop.”
I turned to him.
“No. You stop. You handed them my tax returns. You let them use my Social Security number. You let them put my home into their loan documents. And you took money from Mason.”
His face went white.
Jean made a sound.
May you like
Not a word.
A wound.
