Chapter 4 - FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS
Mason sounded different without a crowd around him. At family gatherings he was loud,
sarcastic, permanently amused by his own stories. On the phone Tuesday night, he sounded like a
man calling from the bottom of a hole he had dug himself.
Connor walked into the garage and closed the door so Frederick would not hear raised voices.
“Start talking.” “I didn’t know she stole the deed.” “Why did you have it?” “She gave me the
folder.”
“I know that. Why?” Mason exhaled. “She wanted me to deliver it.” “To who?” “Some guy.” Connor
stared at the concrete floor. “A name would help.” “I don’t know his full name. She called him
Mr. Vale or Vail. Something like that.”
“You were carrying my deed, my tax records, and bank documents to a man whose name you don’t
know?” “When you say it like that—” “There is no better way to say it.” Mason went quiet.
Connor pressed his fingers to his temple.
“What else was in the folder?” “Copies of tax documents. Some bank statements. A property
assessment. I think there was a form from a title company.” Connor’s body went cold. “A title
company?”
“I think.” “You think?” “I didn’t read everything.” “You accepted a folder of my private
documents and never looked?” “Your mom said it was family business.” Connor laughed once. It
was not humor.
“That phrase has become very expensive.” Mason swallowed loudly on the other end. “She paid
me.” There it was. “How much?” “Five hundred.” Connor closed his eyes. “For delivering
paperwork?”
“Yes.” “Through the side gate?” Another pause. “Yes.” “Why the side gate?” “She said she didn’t
want Amy asking questions.” Connor opened his eyes. The sentence sharpened the entire
situation.
“What questions?” “I don’t know.” “Mason.” “I swear.” Connor leaned against the workbench.
“What did my mother say she was trying to do?” Mason hesitated long enough for Connor to know
the answer mattered.
“She said she was fixing the ownership.” The garage seemed suddenly too quiet. “Explain.” “She
said Amy was going to take the house from the family.” Connor stared at the closed door that
led into the kitchen.
“The house does not belong to the family.” “I know.” “No. Apparently none of you know. I bought
it.” “I’m not defending her.” “You carried the deed.” “I know.” “Then stop talking like a
spectator.”
Mason fell silent. Connor breathed slowly. “Did she say how she planned to ‘fix’ the
ownership?” “No. She said you weren’t responsible with money.” Connor almost dropped the phone.
“My mother said that?”
“She said you made good money but Amy spent too much. She said somebody needed to protect what
you earned.” Connor thought of Amy’s closet. Three pairs of jeans. Shoes worn past their best
years.
A winter coat she had repaired twice rather than replace. The blue dress Connor had bought as a
surprise because Amy had refused to buy herself anything new for months. “Did she mention the
money I sent her?”
Mason did not answer. “Mason.” “She said you wanted her to hold some of it.” “For what?”
“Family assets.” “What assets?” “I don’t know.” Connor’s anger changed shape. Until then, part
of him had still imagined an explanation Teresa might offer. Maybe she had misused the money
but believed she was managing it. Maybe the deed had been taken for some misguided insurance or
estate purpose. Maybe the whole thing was overreach rather than deception.
Now there was concealment. Amy was not supposed to ask questions. Connor was not supposed to
know until ownership had been “fixed.” Mason had been paid cash to carry the documents away.
“Were there messages?” Connor asked.
“What?” “Did Mom text you instructions?” “Yes.” “Save them.” Mason sounded uneasy. “For what?”
“For reality.” “I don’t want to be dragged into court.” “You were dragged into this the moment
you took five hundred dollars.”
Mason cursed under his breath. Connor continued. “Do not delete anything. Do not edit anything.
Send me copies.” “Your mom will kill me.” Connor’s voice went flat. “You’re more afraid of
disappointing her than explaining why you left my house with stolen records?”
That ended the argument. Mason promised to send screenshots. Connor returned to the kitchen.
Amy sat on the floor beside Frederick, building a tower from wooden blocks. Their son knocked
it down with both hands and laughed. Amy laughed too, tired but genuine.
Connor stood in the doorway. The contrast hurt. Teresa had described this woman as wasteful and
irresponsible. Amy was wearing an old university T-shirt with a tiny hole near the hem because
she said it still had “years left.” The baby toys around her had been mostly gifts or
secondhand purchases. The biggest thing Amy had asked Connor to buy that year was a safer car
seat.
He sat beside her. “There’s something I need to say.” Amy watched his face. “I failed you.”
“Connor—” “Let me finish.” She did. “I sent Mom money because it made me feel like I was taking
care of things while I was gone. I liked believing I had solved the problem. Work longer, send
more, let someone I trust handle the details.”
Amy looked down at the blocks. “I should have told you what she was saying.” “Yes.” Amy’s head
lifted sharply. Connor continued before she could retreat. “You should have told me because
we’re married, not because this was your fault. But I made telling me harder than it should
have been.”
She said nothing. “Every time you complained about Mom, I treated it like a personality
conflict. I told you she meant well. I said she was trying to help. I made you prove your
discomfort before I took it seriously.”
Amy’s eyes filled. “I kept thinking she would stop.” “Why?” “She was always nice when you came
home.” That sentence again. Connor nodded slowly. “Then I need to stop judging what happens
only by what I see.”
Amy looked at him. “Mason says Mom thought you were going to take the house.” Amy’s mouth
opened. “From who?” “Apparently from ‘the family.’” She stared at him for several seconds. Then
she laughed.
It was a quiet, disbelieving sound. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.” “You don’t have
to.” “What was she planning?” “I don’t know yet.” Connor looked toward the office. “But she had
my deed, tax records, bank papers, and a possible title-company document. Mason says she paid
him five hundred dollars to deliver the folder.”
Amy’s face lost color. “To who?” “Someone named Vale or Vail.” She pulled Frederick closer
without seeming to realize it. Connor took her hand. “I called Daniel. He’s checking property
filings and title records.”
Amy nodded. Then she whispered, “What if she already did something?” Connor looked at his wife,
his son, and the house around them. “She can create problems,” he said. “She can create
paperwork. She can create lies.”
His grip tightened gently around Amy’s hand. “But she does not get to create our reality for us
anymore.” That night, after Amy and Frederick were asleep, Connor opened his laptop and checked
his email.
Mason had sent thirty-two screenshots. The oldest message was dated four months earlier. Long
May you like
before the birthday party. Connor read the first line twice. We need to get this done before
Amy realizes what he owns.
