“They were specifically looking for your file,” she explained. “They didn’t take anything, but they photographed documents. Probably hoping to find something they could use against you in court.”
“Did they find anything useful?”
“That’s just it. Whoever did this wasn’t very bright. They photographed Dr. Chen’s evaluation, your medical records—everything that proves you’re completely competent.”
The police officer, a young man named Thompson, looked up from his notes.
“Mrs. Caldwell, your lawyer mentioned you might have some idea who could be behind this.”
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
Derek.
“Mom, I think we should meet. This whole legal thing is getting out of hand.”
I looked at Officer Thompson, who nodded and mouthed, Keep him talking.
“Is that right, Derek?”
“Yeah. I mean, family shouldn’t be fighting in court. Maybe we can work something out.”
“What kind of something?”
“Well… maybe you don’t need all that money. I mean, what are you going to do with $800,000? You could give me and Tiffany enough to pay off our debts and everyone would be happy.”
“How much would that be?”
“Oh, maybe three hundred thousand. That would leave you plenty for your retirement.”
Three hundred thousand.
More than enough to cover their debts and leave them with a comfortable cushion.
And Derek was talking about it like he was doing me a favor.
“And if I say no?”
There was a pause.
“Mom, you really don’t want to go to court. Things might come out that would be embarrassing for everyone.”
“What kind of things?”
“Well, people might start wondering about Dad’s death. How convenient it was that he died right before the farm value really took off.”
The implication hit me like a blow.
Derek was threatening to suggest I had somehow been involved in Joe’s death from cancer three years earlier.
Officer Thompson was taking notes furiously.
“Derek, are you threatening me?”
“I’m not threatening anyone. I’m just saying competency hearings can bring up all sorts of family history. Things that might look suspicious to people who don’t know the real story.”
“I see. And this meeting you want to have. Where did you have in mind?”
“How about the old barn on the property? Tonight around eight. Nice and private so we can talk without interruptions.”
After I hung up, Officer Thompson looked grim.
“Mrs. Caldwell, that sounded like a pretty clear threat to me. And that location he suggested—isolated, private—I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” Patricia said.
“Margaret, you cannot meet him alone.”
“Actually,” I said, thinking of the new security cameras and forty-five years of dealing with trouble head-on, “I have a better idea.”
That night at eight o’clock, Derek pulled up to my house expecting to find a confused, frightened old woman ready to cave to his demands.
Instead, he found someone who had spent forty-five years dealing with problems and had no intention of backing down to a spoiled brat with gambling debts, even if that spoiled brat happened to be her son.
Derek walked into my kitchen like he still owned the place. What he didn’t know was that every word he was about to say was being recorded in high definition.
“Mom, I’m glad you decided to be reasonable about this.”
“Sit down, Derek. Let’s have that talk.”
I gestured to the kitchen table, positioning myself so the cameras had a clear angle on both of us.
He sat at the same table where I had fed him breakfast every school morning for eighteen years. The irony was not lost on me—that this was the place where our relationship would officially end.
“Here’s the thing,” Derek began, pulling out a folder with the confidence of a man who thought he held all the cards. “I’ve got the guardianship papers ready to file. But we don’t have to go that route if you’re willing to be sensible.”
“Define sensible.”
“Sign over power of attorney to me. Give me access to the farm money. In exchange, I’ll drop the competency case and we can go back to being a normal family.”
I looked at my son, really looked at him, and tried to find some trace of the boy who once brought me dandelions and called them flowers.
All I saw was a stranger wearing his face.
“And if I refuse?”
Derek’s expression hardened.
“Then we go to court and you lose. Mom, I’ve got witnesses lined up who’ll testify about your erratic behavior. Store clerks who will say you seemed confused. Neighbors who’ll swear you were acting paranoid.”
“Lying witnesses, you mean.”
He shrugged.
“People remember what they need to remember, especially when they’re trying to help a concerned family member protect his elderly mother.”
“You paid them.”
“I motivated them to do the right thing.”
No shame.
Not an ounce.
“The point is, you can’t win this fight. Even if you somehow convince the judge you’re competent now, I’ll just keep filing petitions. Every six months. Every year. I’ll make your life miserable until you give me what I want.”
At sixty-eight, I had learned to control my temper.
But Derek was testing limits I had forgotten I still possessed.
“And what exactly do you want, Derek? What is it you think is yours?”
“What’s mine,” he snapped. “What should have been mine all along.”
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