Chapter 6
The next two months were a nightmare.
Margaret didn’t stop.
She sent flowers to the house—black roses, with a card that said I’m watching.
She left notes on our car windshield: Your mom’s time is running out.
She called the diner where I used to work, told my old boss I was a thief, that I’d stolen money from the register.
He called me, upset, said he’d had to let the other waitresses know, that customers were asking questions.
I quit going into town.
I quit visiting my mom alone.
Daniel or Hannah always came with me.
We installed security cameras all around the house.
Bought a big dog, a golden retriever we named Max, who slept by the front door every night.
I slept with a baseball bat under my bed.
The worst part was the waiting.
The trial date kept getting pushed back.
First, Margaret’s lawyer said he needed more time to review evidence.
Then he said Margaret was “sick,” that she couldn’t attend hearings.
Every delay felt like a victory for her.
Like she was laughing at us, from behind her lawyer, from behind her money, from behind all her lies.
Then we got a break.
Hannah came home from school one afternoon, her face glowing.
“I found something,” she said, dumping a stack of papers on the kitchen table.
Old bank statements. Credit card bills. Gambling receipts.
“Margaret kept them in a locked box in her closet,” she said. “I went back to the house yesterday to get my yearbook. The box was open. She must have been going through it. I took copies of everything.”
Daniel and I sat down, and went through the papers one by one.
It was worse than we’d imagined.
Margaret had been gambling for ten years.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars.
She’d stolen from Daniel’s trust fund not just once, but over and over.
More than two hundred thousand dollars total.
She’d taken out loans in Daniel’s dad’s name, after he died, left the family with hundreds of thousands in debt.
She’d even stolen money from Hannah’s college fund.
Every last dollar.
Daniel’s hands were shaking when he finished.
“All these years,” he said, his voice raw. “I thought Dad left us broke. I thought we had to be careful with money. I worked three jobs in college because I thought we couldn’t afford tuition. And she was just throwing it all away on cards?”
Hannah nodded, her eyes hard.
“She told me my college fund was gone because the stock market crashed,” she said. “I believed her. I thought I’d have to take out loans for the rest of my life.”
I grabbed the papers.
“This is it,” I said. “This is the proof we need. This shows a pattern. It shows she’s a habitual liar and thief. It proves she stole from all of us. The judge has to see this.”
We called our lawyer that night.
She was ecstatic.
“This changes everything,” she said. “We can add more theft charges. We can show the court she’s not a first-time offender. We can use this to get her bail revoked. Send me copies of everything tonight. I’ll file first thing tomorrow.”
The next day, we went to court for the bail revocation hearing.
Margaret was there, dressed in a modest black dress, her hair pulled back, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
She looked like a grieving widow. Like a victim.
Her lawyer stood up, and told the judge Margaret was a “devoted mother and grandmother,” that she was “suffering from severe depression,” that we were “making up lies to steal her family’s money.”
Then our lawyer stood up.
She laid out the evidence.
The recording. The bank receipts. The hospital logs.
And then the new papers.
The ten years of gambling debts. The hundreds of thousands stolen from Daniel’s trust. The money taken from Hannah’s college fund.
She showed the judge the texts. The black roses. The security footage of Margaret outside the hospital.
She played the recording again.
Margaret’s voice, cold and clear, threatening to kill my mom.
The judge listened to every word.
When it was over, he looked at Margaret.
His face was like stone.
“Ms. Carter,” he said. “You have been given every opportunity to follow the rules of this court. You have repeatedly violated the restraining order. You have harassed these people. You have stolen from your own children. You have threatened the life of an innocent woman in the ICU. I have no choice but to revoke your bail. You will be held in the Dallas County Jail without bond until your trial. Do I make myself clear?”
Margaret’s face crumpled.
She screamed. She stood up, yelling that it was all a lie, that we’d framed her, that the judge was corrupt.
The bailiffs grabbed her, dragged her out of the courtroom.
She was still screaming when the doors closed behind her.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
Daniel squeezed my hand so tight I thought he’d break my fingers.
Hannah was crying, silent tears running down her face.
It wasn’t over.
The trial was still two months away.
But for the first time in months?
Margaret was behind bars.
She couldn’t hurt us.
She couldn’t hurt my mom.
May you like
We were safe.
For now.
