Chapter 7 - What Theo Was Asked to Say

I left the café through the kitchen.

Jennifer arranged it with the manager before Charlotte entered the front door.

I did not ask how often Jennifer needed private exits from public places.

I did not want to know.

I walked two blocks through an alley, called a rideshare, and left my own car in a public garage.

Maya met me at her office twenty minutes later.

“You look terrible,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Where is Jennifer?”

“Probably being interrogated by Charlotte.”

Maya closed her office door.

“You met her without telling me the location.”

“You told me not to confront Solomon.”

“I also told you not to behave like a detective in a prestige television drama.”

“That part was implied.”

She pointed at the chair.

“Sit.”

I sat.

Then I told her everything.

The fraud.

Northline.

The seven hundred thousand dollars.

The lender named Martin Vale.

Charlotte’s surveillance archive.

The pressure campaign around the house.

Maya took notes without interrupting.

When I finished, she removed her glasses.

“This has moved beyond divorce preparation.”

“I know.”

“We may be dealing with financial crimes.”

“I know.”

“And coercive behavior involving your child.”

My throat tightened.

“I know.”

Maya leaned forward.

“Do you?”

I stared at her.

“Theo was told he could destroy his family by telling the truth. That is not a side issue.”

“I know.”

“Then say it like you know.”

I looked down.

“My son was manipulated.”

“Yes.”

“By his father and grandmother.”

“And possibly Jennifer.”

I swallowed.

“Yes.”

Maya’s voice softened.

“You do not have to minimize it because admitting it makes the situation uglier.”

That sentence nearly broke me.

For days, I had been collecting evidence because evidence was easier than grief.

Logs could be printed.

Messages could be photographed.

Documents could be analyzed.

But Theo’s face when he asked whether telling me the truth would make his father leave had no neat place in a file.

I covered my mouth with one hand.

Maya waited.

Finally, I said:

“What do I do?”

“First, we keep him safe.”

“He’s with Dad.”

“Good. Second, you speak with a child therapist before asking Theo any more questions.”

“I haven’t questioned him.”

“I know. Keep it that way.”

“And Solomon?”

“We do not reveal Jennifer’s information yet.”

“What if Charlotte tells him about the café?”

“She probably will.”

“So he’ll know.”

“He’ll know you met someone. He won’t know what she gave you.”

I thought of the flash drive.

“Jennifer still has it.”

“For now.”

At three that afternoon, my father called.

“Theo said something strange.”

My stomach tightened.

“What?”

“He asked whether I thought you worked too much.”

I closed my eyes.

“What did you say?”

“I said adults work different amounts and that you love him.”

“Then?”

“He asked whether I thought you got angry a lot.”

Maya was watching my face.

“What exactly did he say?”

My father lowered his voice.

“He said Grandma had practiced questions with him.”

I stood.

“What questions?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

“I’m coming over.”

Maya raised a hand.

“Do not question him.”

“I heard you.”

At my father’s house, Theo was on the floor coloring.

A red toy car sat beside his knee.

He looked up when I entered.

“Mom!”

He ran toward me.

I dropped to my knees and hugged him.

For several seconds, I forgot every camera, every transfer agreement, every lie.

He smelled like crayons and pancake syrup.

I kissed his hair.

“Did you have fun with Grandpa?”

“Yes. He lets me put syrup on bacon.”

My father said from the kitchen:

“That information was privileged.”

Theo laughed.

I sat on the floor beside him.

“What are you drawing?”

“A car city.”

He showed me roads made from thick black crayon lines.

I did not ask about Charlotte.

I did not ask about Solomon.

I waited.

Ten minutes later, Theo said:

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Grandpa said you work because you’re good at your job.”

“That’s nice of him.”

“Grandma says you work because you don’t like being home.”

My father appeared in the doorway.

I shook my head slightly.

He stopped.

I looked at Theo.

“What do you think?”

He shrugged.

“I think you like home.”

“I do.”

He moved a green crayon across the page.

“Grandma said sometimes grown-ups ask kids questions and kids have to answer right.”

I kept my voice gentle.

“What kind of questions?”

Theo frowned.

“Like who makes dinner.”

“Okay.”

“And who gets me from school.”

“Okay.”

“And if you yell.”

My chest tightened.

“Did she tell you what answers were right?”

Theo nodded.

Then immediately looked worried.

I touched his hand.

“You are not in trouble.”

“She said I should say Daddy makes dinner a lot.”

“Does Daddy make dinner a lot?”

Theo thought very seriously.

“He makes eggs.”

My father made a sound that might have been a laugh and might have been a threat.

I continued.

“What else?”

Theo stared at his drawing.

“She said I should say you yell when you come home.”

“Do I?”

“Sometimes you say, ‘Why are the shoes here?’”

I almost laughed.

Theo looked relieved.

“And she said if someone asks if Daddy takes care of me when I’m sick, I say yes.”

“Does he?”

“Sometimes.”

A pause.

“Like the fever day?”

Theo’s hand stopped moving.

I wished I could pull the question back.

He whispered:

“Grandma said I should forget that day.”

I went still.

“Okay.”

“She said it was mixed up.”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

Theo looked at me.

“But I remember.”

I waited.

He picked up the red toy car and rolled it slowly across the paper.

“Grandma took me to the park.”

“I know.”

“No.”

He looked at me.

“After.”

“After what?”

“After I saw Daddy and Aunt Jennifer.”

My mouth went dry.

“What happened before the park?”

Theo’s eyes filled with tears.

“Grandma got mad.”

“At you?”

He nodded.

“She said I opened a door I wasn’t supposed to.”

I moved closer.

“You did nothing wrong.”

“She made me sit in the kitchen.”

“What did Daddy do?”

“He told Grandma to take me out.”

“And Jennifer?”

Theo looked confused.

“She cried.”

That surprised me.

“She cried?”

“Daddy told her to stop.”

I heard my father inhale sharply behind me.

Theo continued.

“Grandma made a video.”

Everything inside me stopped.

“What video?”

“She put her phone up and asked me questions.”

“What questions?”

Theo repeated them in a small rehearsed voice.

“Who takes care of you when Mommy works late?”

I closed my eyes.

“Who makes you feel safe?”

My father turned away.

“Who gets mad the most?”

I felt physically sick.

“What did you say?”

Theo began to cry.

“I said Mommy.”

I pulled him into my arms.

“It’s okay.”

“Grandma told me to.”

“It’s okay.”

“She said Daddy needed me to help.”

“You are not responsible for helping grown-ups with grown-up problems.”

He cried harder.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

I held his face gently.

“Never apologize for telling me the truth.”

My father left the room.

I knew why.

He needed somewhere private to be furious.

I held Theo until he calmed.

Then I called Maya from the porch.

“She recorded him.”

Maya went silent.

“She coached him first.”

“Do you know whether the recording still exists?”

“No.”

“Do not ask Theo to repeat this again.”

“I won’t.”

“We need the therapist.”

“I know.”

“And we need to assume Charlotte intended to use the video.”

“For custody.”

“Possibly.”

I looked through the window.

Theo was back on the floor with his crayons.

My father sat beside him pretending everything was normal.

I said:

“This was never just about the house.”

“No.”

“They were preparing to take Theo too.”

Maya did not answer immediately.

Then she said:

“Maybe not take him permanently.”

“What is the difference?”

“The difference matters legally.”

“It does not matter to me.”

“I know.”

Before I went back inside, my father joined me on the porch.

“There is one thing I did not tell you,” he said.

I gave him a tired look.

“Please stop having those.”

He almost smiled.

“Charlotte called me about six months ago.”

My stomach tightened.

“About the house?”

“About Theo.”

I turned toward him.

“What did she ask?”

“She wanted to know what would happen to the property if something happened to you.”

I stared at him.

“What did you say?”

“That my estate plan was private.”

“And then?”

“She asked whether Theo would inherit directly or whether Solomon would control anything for him.”

The porch seemed to tilt beneath me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because she framed it as grandmotherly concern, and I did not want to create conflict where there might be none.”

He looked toward the window where Theo sat with his crayons.

“I was wrong.”

“No.”

“I should have recognized the question.”

“So should I have recognized a hundred things.”

My father shook his head.

“That is not the same.”

“It is close enough.”

He touched my shoulder.

“Then we can both stop punishing ourselves for believing people we loved.”

I looked at him.

That was the closest either of us came to forgiveness that day.

My phone buzzed.

Solomon.

Where are you? We need to talk.

Then another message.

Mom saw you downtown.

Then:

Were you meeting Jennifer?

I stared at the screen.

Maya asked:

“What happened?”

“He knows.”

“Do not go home alone.”

I looked toward my father.

He was watching me now.

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I said:

“I’m not going home at all tonight.”