Chapter 8 - The Falling Cards
The deposition transcripts were delivered to the Regional Health Board on Friday afternoon.
By Monday morning, my father had been placed on administrative leave, pending a full internal investigation into his financial conduct. The local paper ran a follow-up story, this time featuring a photo of my father leaving the deposition room, his face covered by his briefcase as he tried to dodge the camera.
But the real blow came from Emily’s custody case.
Her ex-husband, David, had filed an emergency motion to suspend her visitation rights, using the deposition transcript and the police report of the fork assault to prove that Emily was a danger to the children.
I was sitting in Sarah Vance’s office when the news broke.
“The judge granted the emergency motion,” Sarah said, hanging up her desk phone. “David has sole custody of the twins, effective immediately. Emily is allowed supervised visitation once a week, at a county facility, under the watchful eye of a social worker.”
I felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. “The kids... they didn't do anything wrong.”
“And they’re safe, Megan,” Aunt Carol said, placing her hand on my knee. “David is a good father. He’s stable. He’s been trying to get them away from Emily’s chaos for two years. This isn't your fault. Emily did this to herself the second she decided her sister’s blood was the price of her townhouse.”
The door to the office opened, and Sarah’s assistant walked in, looking slightly flustered.
“Ms. Vance,” she said. “There’s a woman outside. She says she’s Megan’s mother. She’s... she’s refusing to leave.”
I looked at Carol, who gave me a cautious nod.
“Let her in,” I said.
My mother walked into the room, but she didn't look like the elegant woman who had spent her life hosting dinner parties for the town’s elite. Her coat was wrinkled, her eyes swollen, and she was carrying a small, worn leather suitcase.
She didn't look at Sarah or Carol. She walked straight to me, her lips trembling.
“Megan,” she said. “I’ve left him.”
The room went completely quiet.
“I went to the bank this morning,” my mother said, her voice shaking but carrying a strange, new strength. “I saw the records. I saw the transfers to the shell company. Richard... he used my name, Megan. He made me the sole owner of Crestview Consulting. If the state attorney general files criminal charges, I’m the one who goes to prison. Not him. Not Emily. Me.”
She fell into the empty chair beside me, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with a quiet, devastating grief.
“He told me it was for taxes,” she sobbed. “He told me he was protecting our assets. He set me up, Megan. My own husband set me up to take the fall for his theft.”
I reached out, my bandaged hand moving slowly, and placed it on her shoulder. For the first time in my life, she felt small to me. Not like a monster, not like a saint—just a woman who had let herself be blinded by a man’s promises until the light was completely gone.
“We can help you, Helen,” Aunt Carol said, her voice surprisingly gentle as she stood up and walked to my mother’s side. “But you have to tell the truth. All of it. In front of the judge.”
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My mother looked up, her tear-stained face pale but determined.
“I’ll tell them everything,” she said.
