Chapter 8 - THE RED FOLDER
We could not search Margaret’s house.
Not legally.
Rebecca made that very clear.
So we did something better.
We subpoenaed records.
Bank records.
Phone records.
Email records.
Medical consultations.
Trust communications.
For three days, nothing arrived.
Then David found a payment.
Twelve thousand dollars paid from a Mercer-controlled company to Dr. Martin Vale.
The memo line read CONSULTING.
Not counseling.
Consulting.
Rebecca subpoenaed Dr. Vale.
His attorney fought it immediately.
That told us the records mattered.
Meanwhile, Lily began sleeping beside me.
She woke twice the first night asking whether Grandma could come inside.
I installed cameras.
Changed the locks.
Transferred Lily to a temporary school pickup plan.
For the first time, I saw how deeply Margaret’s behavior had affected her.
At breakfast on Thursday, Lily pushed away a piece of toast.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Can people make you stop being my mommy?”
My chest tightened.
“No.”
“Grandma said they could.”
I kept my face calm.
“When?”
“At her house.”
“What exactly did she say?”
Lily stared at her plate.
“She said if you kept making trouble, a judge would know you were sick.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I asked one question.
“What did Daddy say?”
Lily whispered.
“Nothing.”
That answer hurt more than any accusation.
Later that afternoon, Rebecca called.
“We got Dr. Vale’s invoice history.”
“And?”
“He wasn’t treating you.”
“I know.”
“He was creating evaluations based entirely on interviews with Ethan and Margaret.”
“Can he do that?”
“He can consult with family members.”
“But can he diagnose me?”
“He should not have.”
“What did he write?”
Rebecca paused.
“That you displayed possible narcissistic traits, emotional dysregulation, paranoid thinking, and unhealthy attachment to Lily.”
I laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“He never met me.”
“I know.”
“Then how?”
“Ethan gave him recordings.”
My body went still.
“What recordings?”
“Arguments.”
I remembered arguments.
Usually after Margaret criticized my parenting.
Usually after Brooke deliberately insulted me.
Usually when Ethan refused to defend me.
They had not merely been provoking me.
They had been recording the reaction.
Rebecca continued.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“One recording was made inside your bedroom.”
May you like
I stopped breathing.
“That means someone installed a device.”
