Chapter 6 - The Flying Monkeys
The peace that settled over our home in the weeks following my mother's arrest was profound, but I knew it was only the eye of the storm. The civil lawsuits my lawyer drafted were a declaration of war against the extended family who had feasted on my wife’s misery. It didn't take long for the first retaliatory strike.
It happened on a Tuesday afternoon. I was working from my home office—a new arrangement I had made with my firm to stay closer to Amy and Frederick—when the frantic pounding on the front door echoed through the hallway.
I glanced at the security monitor on my desk. Standing on the porch, her face red with indignation, was Aunt Beatrice. She was the one who had demanded Amy serve coffee after washing the dishes.
"Stay here," I told Amy, who had tensed up on the sofa with Frederick. I kissed her forehead and marched to the door, throwing it open.
"Connor Bradley, you have lost your damn mind!" Aunt Beatrice shrieked, waving a thick stack of legal papers in my face. "I just got served by a process server at my place of work! You're suing me for thirty thousand dollars? Are you insane? Your mother bought me that car, I had no idea it was with your money!"
I stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door firmly shut behind me, crossing my arms.
"You knew exactly what you were doing, Beatrice," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Teresa hasn't worked a day in ten years. You knew she didn't have the capital to buy you a brand-new Honda, let alone fund those lavish weekly dinners you all enjoyed while my wife starved in the kitchen."
"We are family!" she wailed, trying to push past me. "You don't do this to family! Teresa is sitting in a cold cell, crying her eyes out because of your ungrateful wife. You need to drop these charges, drop this lawsuit, and get your mother out of there before you ruin us all!"
"You ruined yourselves," I replied, stepping into her path and forcing her back. "Every single person in that backyard saw my son burning up with a fever. Every single one of you watched Amy scrubbing pots like a slave while you drank expensive tequila paid for with my stolen wages. Not one of you stepped in. You didn't just turn a blind eye; you actively participated in the abuse."
Beatrice’s face shifted from anger to a desperate, manipulative panic. "Connor, please. If my husband finds out the car was bought with stolen money, he'll leave me. We can't afford this lawsuit. We'll lose everything."
May you like
"Then you better hire a good bankruptcy lawyer," I said coldly. "Because I am not stopping until every cent my mother stole is returned. Do not ever step foot on my property again, or I will have you arrested for trespassing just like her."
I turned, walked back inside, and locked the deadbolt. As I watched her storm down the driveway on the security camera, screaming profanities into the wind, I felt zero guilt. The purge had begun.
