Chapter 3 - LEONARD SHAW
I spent the night beside Frederick’s hospital crib.
Amy slept for maybe an hour.
I didn’t sleep at all.
At six thirty the next morning, I searched Leonard Shaw’s name.
The results made my stomach turn.
Leonard Shaw was not a lawyer.
He was not a banker.
He was a private property investor with a trail of limited liability companies across Tennessee.
Most specialized in distressed homes.
Probate purchases.
Foreclosures.
Tax sales.
Properties owned by elderly people or families going through financial crises.
His companies bought homes cheaply and sold them fast.
There were lawsuits.
Nothing dramatic enough to put him in prison.
Just enough to make him look dangerous.
One article mentioned accusations of forged signatures in a property transfer outside Murfreesboro.
The case had been dismissed after the elderly homeowner died.
I read that paragraph three times.
Amy woke up.
“What did you find?”
I turned the screen toward her.
She read silently.
Her face changed.
“Connor.”
“I know.”
“Why would your mother know someone like this?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
My phone rang.
This time it was Detective Rachel Monroe.
The case had already been referred to detectives because of the forged documents.
She asked whether Amy and I could come to the station after Frederick was discharged.
We agreed.
Before ending the call, I asked about Leonard Shaw.
Her silence told me enough.
“You know who he is.”
“We know the name.”
“Is he involved?”
“We’re determining that.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t want to give you incomplete information.”
“Detective, someone prepared paperwork to take my home and my son.”
“I understand.”
“Then give me something.”
She paused.
“Mr. Shaw’s name appears in your mother’s recent call history.”
“How recent?”
“Last night.”
I stared at the phone.
“During the party?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Approximately fourteen minutes before officers arrived.”
I looked at Amy.
Teresa had called Leonard when she realized I was home.
“What did they talk about?”
“We don’t have that.”
“Yet.”
The word hung there.
After Frederick was discharged, we drove to the police station.
Amy held him in the back seat.
He was exhausted but cooler.
Every few minutes, I checked the mirror just to see him breathe.
Detective Monroe met us in a small interview room.
She was in her early forties.
Calm.
Direct.
She placed a legal pad on the table.
“Your mother has been released pending further investigation.”
Amy immediately stiffened.
“What?”
I leaned forward.
“She shoved an officer.”
“She was cited.”
“The document issues require investigation before charges can be finalized.”
“So she’s free?”
“For now.”
I felt anger rise.
Monroe raised one hand.
“Listen to me.”
“We have her laptop.”
“We have the folder.”
“We have multiple statements.”
“We have body-camera footage.”
“We have the documents.”
“Her being outside a holding cell does not mean this disappeared.”
I sat back.
Amy asked the question I was afraid to ask.
“Can she come near us?”
“You should seek an emergency protective order today.”
“We can provide information.”
I nodded.
“Done.”
Monroe opened her file.
“Now I need you to explain your financial relationship with Teresa.”
I told her about the three thousand dollars a month.
I told her why I had started sending it.
I told her Teresa claimed to be buying groceries, paying some household bills, and helping Amy after Frederick’s birth.
Monroe looked at Amy.
“Did she?”
Amy shook her head.
“She brought groceries occasionally.”
“How much?”
“Maybe one hundred dollars at a time.”
“Once or twice a month.”
My jaw tightened.
Monroe wrote something down.
“She told Connor she was paying for cleaning help.”
Amy gave a bitter laugh.
“I was the cleaning help.”
That sentence hurt.
Monroe looked at me.
“How long had she been treating your wife this way?”
I didn’t know how to answer.
Amy did.
“About ten months.”
I turned toward her.
“Ten?”
She nodded.
“What did she do?”
Amy stared at Frederick.
“She started small.”
“She would come over and move things.”
“Criticize how I dressed him.”
“Tell me I wasn’t feeding him properly.”
“Then she started inviting relatives without asking.”
“She’d tell them I wasn’t hospitable if I didn’t cook.”
“She told people Connor paid for everything because I contributed nothing.”
I felt ashamed.
“How did I not see this?”
Amy looked at me.
“Because she never did it when you were home.”
Monroe leaned forward.
“Did she ever threaten you?”
Amy hesitated.
“Yes.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Amy’s eyes filled.
“She told me if I ever turned you against her, she would make sure you lost Frederick.”
I could barely speak.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She showed me those fake texts the same day.”
I looked down.
My mother had understood exactly where to press.
Monroe asked Amy whether Teresa had access to her phone.
“Sometimes.”
“She knew my passcode because she said she needed it in case something happened with the baby.”
Monroe nodded.
“That could explain the screenshots.”
I looked at her.
“She fabricated messages using Amy’s phone?”
“Possibly.”
“Or manipulated images.”
“Or created a duplicate contact.”
“We will examine the devices.”
Then Monroe slid a printed image across the table.
It was a screenshot from Teresa’s laptop.
A spreadsheet.
Rows of dates and payments.
One column said CB.
Another said AB.
Another said FB.
My initials.
Amy’s.
Frederick’s.
The final column was labeled PHASE.
Next to my name:
FINANCIAL AUTHORITY.
Next to Amy:
SEPARATION.
Next to Frederick:
GUARDIANSHIP.
I stared at it.
“What is this?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I pointed to another abbreviation.
LS.
“Leonard Shaw?”
“We believe so.”
Another line read:
PROPERTY EXIT — 60 DAYS.
I looked at Monroe.
“What does that mean?”
“We’re investigating.”
Amy whispered.
“They were going to sell the house.”
I knew she was right.
Monroe didn’t confirm it.
She didn’t need to.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
I looked down.
There was a photograph attached.
It showed Amy.
She was standing outside Cumberland Community Bank.
The timestamp was three weeks earlier.
The day she had apparently discovered the hidden account.
The text beneath the photograph said:
YOUR WIFE ISN’T TELLING YOU EVERYTHING.
A second message appeared.
ASK HER WHAT SHE TOOK OUT OF THE SAFE BEFORE TERESA DID.
I looked at Amy.
She saw my face.
“What?”
I turned the phone toward her.
Her expression changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
My stomach dropped.
“Amy.”
“What did you take from the safe?”
She closed her eyes.
Then she whispered.
“The letter.”
“What letter?”
She looked at Detective Monroe.
Then back at me.
“The one your father wrote before he died.”
May you like
And suddenly, a family secret I hadn’t thought about in fourteen years was sitting in the middle of the investigation.
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