Chapter 2 - The Hospital and The Horrifying Truth

I spent the next forty-eight hours sleeping on a terrible vinyl chair in the pediatric ward. By Sunday morning, Frederick’s fever had finally broken. The color returned to his cheeks, and for the first time in days, he managed to drink a full bottle of formula. Amy, too, was looking stronger, the IV fluids having flushed the exhaustion out of her system.

While they rested, I went to war.

I left the hospital and drove straight to the offices of Sterling & Vance, the most ruthless real estate and criminal prosecution attorneys in Tennessee. I slammed the photocopied forged deed and six months of bank statements onto the mahogany desk of Arthur Sterling.

“I want them ruined,” I said. “Legally, financially, and publicly.”

Arthur adjusted his glasses, scanning the documents. “Forging a real estate deed is a felony, Connor. Using a fraudulent notary seal is a federal offense. And based on these bank transfers, your mother committed wire fraud.”

We immediately pulled my credit reports and Amy’s. What we found was staggering.

My mother hadn't just been hoarding the three thousand dollars a month. She had opened three credit cards in Amy’s name, maxing them out to the tune of forty-five thousand dollars. She had been taking cash advances to fund Mason’s failing auto repair business. That was why Mason was trying to steal the deed—he needed the house as collateral for a massive commercial loan.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was the family group chat.

Since the arrests on Friday, my relatives had been blowing up my phone.

Aunt Betsy: Connor, you need to drop these ridiculous charges against your mother! She was just throwing a party for your son! You humiliated us in front of the whole neighborhood!

Cousin Mason: Bro, call the cops off. They confiscated my truck as evidence. This is family business. We handle it in-house.

I stared at the screen, a cold rage settling in my chest. I typed my first and only response.

Connor: You didn't want a family, Betsy. You wanted a bank. The police have the forged deed. They have the fraudulent notary stamps. Every single person who was in my backyard on Friday is being investigated as an accomplice to real estate fraud and child endangerment. Get a lawyer. You’re going to need it.

I blocked every single one of them and deleted the chat.

When I returned to my house that afternoon to grab clothes for Amy, it was eerily quiet. The party debris was still scattered across the lawn. Half-eaten plates of pulled pork and melted ice bags littered the patio.

I walked into my mother’s bedroom. The closet was overflowing with designer clothes, bags, and expensive jewelry—all bought with the money that was supposed to feed my wife.

I grabbed a heavy-duty trash bag from the kitchen. With cold, mechanical precision, I emptied her closet into the bags. The designer shoes, the silk dresses, the expensive perfumes. I threw it all onto the front lawn, right next to the rotting party food.