Chapter 2 - THE ACCOUNT WITH MY NAME
The emergency room was packed.
Frederick was taken back almost immediately because of his temperature.
The doctor told us he was dehydrated and likely fighting a viral infection.
He needed fluids.
He needed rest.
Most importantly, he needed parents who were not surrounded by screaming relatives.
Amy sat beside his hospital crib with both hands around one of his tiny feet.
I stood near the window.
Neither of us had spoken about what Teresa said.
I wanted to.
I also didn’t want my son’s first birthday to end with me interrogating his mother inside a hospital room.
But silence has weight.
After nearly twenty minutes, Amy finally looked at me.
“You can ask.”
I turned.
“What account?”
She lowered her eyes.
“I found it three weeks ago.”
My chest tightened.
“What did you find?”
“A checking account.”
“In whose name?”
“Yours.”
I stared at her.
“I don’t have another checking account.”
“I know.”
“How much money?”
“When I found it, there was a little over eighty-six thousand dollars.”
I thought I had misheard her.
“Eighty-six thousand?”
Amy nodded.
I pulled the visitor chair toward her.
“Start at the beginning.”
She took a breath.
“Your mother had been asking me for copies of your pay stubs.”
“Why?”
“She said she was helping organize taxes.”
“She doesn’t do our taxes.”
“I told her that.”
Amy rubbed her hands together.
“She said you had asked her.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
I felt the first pulse of anger returning.
“What does this have to do with the account?”
“A statement came in the mail.”
“To our house?”
“Yes.”
“Whose name?”
“Connor Bradley.”
My mouth went dry.
Amy continued.
“The address on the statement was your mother’s house.”
“But the bank mailed one copy here because someone had recently changed the correspondence address.”
“Which bank?”
“Cumberland Community.”
I knew it.
It was a small regional bank where my mother had kept her accounts for years.
“I opened it because I thought it was ours.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“No.”
“You absolutely should have.”
She looked at me.
“There were deposits going back almost a year.”
“How much?”
“Different amounts.”
“Sometimes three thousand.”
“Sometimes six.”
“Sometimes more.”
“Where did the money come from?”
“That’s the part I couldn’t understand.”
I waited.
Amy swallowed.
“Some transfers were from our joint account.”
I stared at her.
“That isn’t possible.”
“I would have noticed.”
“They weren’t listed under Teresa.”
“What were they listed under?”
“Household Services.”
The words landed like a stone.
I remembered monthly transactions Amy and I had discussed.
HOUSEHOLD SERVICES LLC.
I thought it was the company handling several recurring payments Teresa had arranged after Frederick was born.
Groceries.
A cleaning service.
Occasional childcare.
Teresa had told us combining them through one service would simplify everything.
I had never questioned it.
I felt sick.
“Did you photograph the statement?”
Amy nodded.
“My phone.”
The phone Teresa had taken.
“Did she know you found it?”
“I don’t think so.”
I remembered Teresa’s words.
Ask her why she never told you about the account.
“She knew.”
Amy’s expression tightened.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
The door opened.
A nurse stepped inside.
She checked Frederick’s IV and smiled reassuringly.
“His temperature is coming down.”
Amy’s shoulders dropped slightly.
“Thank you.”
When the nurse left, I sat beside her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
That question hurt her.
I could see it immediately.
“Because every time I tried to tell you something about your mother, you defended her.”
I looked away.
She was right.
Amy continued.
“She told me I was ungrateful.”
“She told me you were stressed.”
“She told me that if I kept causing problems, you’d eventually choose your family over me.”
“Amy.”
“She showed me messages.”
I turned back.
“What messages?”
“Texts from you.”
“I never texted her anything about choosing sides.”
“I know that now too.”
“What did they say?”
“She had screenshots.”
“She showed me conversations where you supposedly said I was unstable after the baby.”
My heart dropped.
“What?”
Amy’s eyes filled with tears.
“She showed me one where you wrote, ‘Sometimes I don’t trust Amy alone with Frederick.’”
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
“She showed me another saying you were considering separating.”
“That is a lie.”
“I know.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
“Why would she do that?”
Amy gave me a tired look.
“Connor.”
“She was trying to break us apart.”
I stopped pacing.
The forged guardianship petition suddenly made sense.
If Teresa could manufacture evidence that Amy and I were separating, she could make her custody story more believable.
If she could make Amy think I didn’t trust her, Amy might leave voluntarily.
If Amy left with Frederick, Teresa could accuse her of instability.
If Amy left without Frederick, Teresa could accuse her of abandonment.
Every direction led back to my mother.
My phone rang.
Officer Ramirez.
I answered immediately.
“Mr. Bradley?”
“Yes.”
“We found Mrs. Bradley’s phone.”
“Where?”
“In a locked bedroom upstairs.”
My blood ran cold.
“Which bedroom?”
“Your office.”
My safe was in that office.
“Was the safe open?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“What else is missing?”
“We need you to inventory it.”
“There is another issue.”
“What?”
“We found a laptop.”
“In my office?”
“No.”
“In a suitcase belonging to your mother.”
I waited.
Officer Ramirez continued.
“It appears to contain scanned copies of financial and identification documents.”
“Yours.”
“Your wife’s.”
“And several other people’s.”
I looked at Amy.
“Other people?”
“Yes.”
“And Mr. Bradley…”
His voice changed.
“There are draft documents on the laptop.”
“What documents?”
“One appears to be a residential lease.”
“One appears to be a power-of-attorney form.”
“And one appears to be a quitclaim deed.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Who gets the house?”
A pause.
“Your mother.”
I already knew that part.
Then Ramirez said something I didn’t expect.
“But she isn’t the only beneficiary.”
I stared at the wall.
“Who else?”
“Someone named Mason Carter.”
My cousin.
“And another person named Leonard Shaw.”
I frowned.
“I don’t know Leonard Shaw.”
“We’re working on that.”
“Do not return to the property tonight.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Because we found a handwritten list.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of list?”
“Names.”
“Dates.”
“Dollar amounts.”
“Your name is on it.”
“So is Amy’s.”
“Frederick’s too.”
My mouth went dry.
“What does it say next to Frederick?”
Ramirez was silent for a moment.
Then he answered.
“Transfer after guardianship approval.”
I stopped breathing.
My son was not simply part of Teresa’s plan.
He was the key to it.
And somewhere in my mother’s paperwork was a stranger named Leonard Shaw.
May you like
A stranger who apparently expected to profit from taking my child.
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