“I invited them,” he said. “Grant, Elaine, they have questions about forged signatures, elder financial abuse, and conspiracy to commit fraud.”
The officers advanced toward my parents.
Caleb stumbled backward into the Christmas tree, sending three ornaments crashing to the floor.
Then Mom began crying—not from remorse, but because tears had always been her most effective weapon.
“Avery,” she whispered. “Please. We’re your family.”
I tightened my grip on the folder.
“No,” I said. “You left me here to be useful.”
Grandpa glanced at the notice on the door and then back at them.
“And she was.”
PART 3
The officers did not arrest my parents that afternoon.
Reality is rarely that tidy.
They separated everyone first.
Officer Linda Reyes took Mom into the dining room, where the Christmas table remained bare except for a bowl of artificial fruit and a pile of unopened holiday cards.
Detective Paul Haskins escorted Dad into the kitchen.
Caleb stayed in the living room, pacing beside the tree and muttering that it was a setup, that Grandpa was confused, and that I had always hated our family.
Grandpa remained seated in his rocking chair.
