Chapter 4 - The Confrontation and the Audit
Monday morning, the Nashville precinct was buzzing with activity. My mother’s bail hearing was set for 10:00 AM.
She walked into the courtroom wearing an orange jumpsuit, her wrists shackled in front of her. Without her makeup and expensive jewelry, she looked exactly like what she was: a bitter, greedy, aging woman.
Aunt Betsy and Mason were sitting in the gallery, glaring at me as I walked in with my attorney, Arthur.
When the judge called the docket, my mother’s public defender stood up. “Your Honor, my client is a grandmother who was simply having a family gathering. Her son is going through marital issues, and his wife is clearly manipulating him into pressing false charges. We request a release on her own recognizance.”
The judge looked over his glasses at the prosecutor. “State’s response?”
The prosecutor, armed with the binder Arthur had prepared, stood tall.
“Your Honor, the state fiercely objects. The defendant was not just throwing a party. She was arrested on the premises in possession of a forged quitclaim deed attempting to steal a half-million-dollar property. Furthermore, we have evidence of severe financial abuse, including forty-five thousand dollars in fraudulent credit debt opened in the victim’s name.”
My mother gasped, turning pale. She whipped her head around to look at me, her eyes wide with panic. She didn't realize I knew about the credit cards.
“Furthermore,” the prosecutor continued, “we have opened an investigation into the notary, Betsy Bradley, for federal fraud, and Mason Bradley for conspiracy to commit real estate theft.”
In the gallery, Betsy let out a loud, strangled cry. Mason immediately stood up and tried to bolt for the courtroom doors, but two bailiffs intercepted him, grabbing him by the arms.
“Mason Bradley?” one of the bailiffs asked. “We have a warrant for your arrest.”
Right there, in front of the entire courtroom, my cousin was slammed against the back wall and handcuffed. Betsy began hyperventilating, screaming that it was all my mother’s idea.
The judge slammed his gavel repeatedly. “Order! Order in this court!”
He glared down at my mother, whose knees were literally shaking. “Bail is denied. The defendant is a clear flight risk and a danger to the financial security of the victims. Remand her to the county jail.”
As the guards dragged my mother away, she locked eyes with me.
“Connor! I’m your mother! You owe me! I gave you life!” she screamed, her voice cracking in desperation.
I stood up, adjusting my jacket. I didn't yell. I didn't curse. I just looked at her with pure, absolute indifference.
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“And I gave you everything else,” I said quietly. “Enjoy your new house.”
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