Chapter 4: The Things My Mother Knew
I didn't argue with him.
I walked out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom.
I locked the door.
Then I sat on the edge of the bed and called the only person I could think of.
My friend Denise picked up on the second ring.
"I need you to come over," I said.
"Bring your car.
And don't ring the doorbell."
She didn't ask questions.
That was why I called her.
While I waited, I heard voices from the kitchen.
Low, careful voices.
Marcus talking to my sister, then to my mother.
I couldn't make out the words but I knew the tone.
It was the same tone he used when he was managing a situation.
Calm.
Reasonable.
Slightly threatening underneath.
I took photos of every page in the folder.
Then I put the folder under the mattress.
Denise tapped on the bedroom window twenty minutes later.
I raised it and handed her the folder through the gap.
"Don't read it yet," I said.
"Just keep it somewhere safe."
"Are you okay?"
"No.
But I will be.
Go."
She went.
I unlocked the bedroom door and walked back to the kitchen.
Marcus was still at the table.
My sister had moved to the couch.
My mother was standing at the sink with her back to the room, washing a glass that was already clean.
"Mama," I said.
"Come sit with me."
Marcus watched us.
He didn't stop me, but he watched.
I led my mother to the small chair in the corner of the living room, away from where he could hear easily.
I kept my voice low.
"How long has he been threatening you?"
She pressed her lips together.
"Since before your grandmother passed."
"What did he say he'd do?"
"He said he'd tell your grandmother about..." She stopped.
Her hand moved to her stomach.
"About this.
He said she'd cut you out of the will if she knew your family had fallen apart.
He said it would be my fault."
"So he used her against you.
He used her illness against you."
"I was so ashamed, baby.
I didn't know how to—"
"Mama." I took her hand.
"I'm not angry at you right now.
I need you to tell me everything.
Every conversation.
Every threat.
Every single thing he said to you.
Can you do that?"
She nodded.
Her hand was cold.
She talked for forty minutes.
I listened to all of it.
By the time she finished, I knew three things.
First, Marcus had been planning this for longer than a year.
Second, he had documentation he believed would protect him.
Third, he did not know that my grandmother, cautious woman that she was, had kept a second copy of her estate records with her attorney — an attorney whose card was still in my wallet from the funeral.
I stood up.
"Where are you going?" Marcus called from the kitchen.
"To get a glass of water," I said.
I went to the kitchen, filled a glass, and stood at the counter for a moment looking at the space where the folder had been.
He was watching me.
I could feel it.
"You should get some sleep," he said.
"We'll sort this out in the morning."
"You're right," I said.
"We will."
I went back to the bedroom and called my grandmother's attorney.
It was late.
I left a message.
Then I lay down on top of the covers fully dressed and stared at the ceiling.
My phone lit up at eleven forty-seven.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*I know what he did.
May you like
I have proof.
We need to talk.*
