Chapter 3 - MY MOTHER HANDED ME THE PAPER TRAIL HERSELF
The next morning I told Mom I wanted breakfast at Gailey’s downtown.
She looked surprised.
“All of us?”
“Family only.”
Her smile returned.
“Of course.”
I added, “Gwen too.”
The smile remained.
Barely.
Paige drove.
I sat in the passenger seat.
Mom and Gwen sat in back.
Every time Gwen moved, Paige checked the mirror.
At the restaurant, Gwen ordered toast and eggs.
Mom interrupted.
“She doesn’t need all that.”
I turned.
“Why?”
“She’ll waste it.”
Gwen stared at the menu.
I smiled at the server.
“Add potatoes.”
Mom’s jaw tightened.
“And orange juice.”
Paige laughed.
“Look at him spoiling her already.”
I looked at Gwen.
“Four years late.”
Her eyes filled.
Nobody else noticed.
After breakfast, I told Mom my Canadian attorney needed an asset package.
“Everything I funded,” I said. “House. Vehicles. Accounts. Construction invoices.”
Mom wiped lipstick from her coffee cup.
“How detailed?”
“Very.”
Paige leaned forward.
“Why?”
“Because the settlement company wants to know whether the four hundred thousand should come personally or through an investment entity.”
Neither woman understood what that meant.
Neither did I.
I had spent the night searching tax terms until two in the morning.
It sounded expensive.
That was enough.
Mom said, “We’ll put something together.”
“I need it today.”
She frowned.
“The attorney is calling tomorrow.”
Paige looked at Mom.
Another silent conversation.
Then Mom nodded.
“Fine.”
At the house she carried two bankers’ boxes into the dining room.
I spent three hours photographing everything.
Invoices.
Canceled checks.
Bank statements.
Vehicle titles.
Furniture purchases.
Contractor receipts.
Mom sat nearby pretending not to watch.
Paige scrolled on her phone.
Gwen was ordered to clean the kitchen.
I hated letting it happen.
I hated even more that Gwen had been right.
If I exploded too early, the papers would vanish.
I found the property deed first.
QUITCLAIM DEED.
Gavin Cole and Gwen Cole to Margaret Cole.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
So did Gwen’s.
The date was eighteen months earlier.
I was in Yellowknife that day.
I knew that alone did not make my signature forged.
I had signed documents electronically before.
But I had never signed this.
I looked at Mom.
“When did I sign the deed?”
She didn’t blink.
“You sent it.”
“Email?”
“Probably.”
“Which email?”
“Gavin, it was almost two years ago.”
I smiled.
“Right.”
I photographed the notarization.
A woman named Sandra Phelps.
Springfield, Missouri.
Paige’s friend Sandra worked at a credit union.
I remembered her from high school.
Then I found the construction statements.
My remittances had entered Mom’s account.
Some went to contractors.
Some did not.
$9,400 to Modern Auto Plaza.
The dealership where Paige bought the F-150.
$6,800 to Neiman Marcus and Nordstrom charges paid from Mom’s credit card.
$11,000 transfer labeled P REIMBURSEMENT.
$4,700 jewelry purchase.
$8,200 cash withdrawal.
Again and again.
My hands stayed steady only because Gwen kept moving in my peripheral vision.
Alive.
Still here.
I could lose money.
I could not risk her.
Then I found the loan.
Ozark Community Bank.
Residential Equity Line.
Maximum principal:
$185,000.
Borrowers:
Margaret Cole.
Gavin Cole.
I read it twice.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“What’s this?”
She leaned over.
“Oh. Construction financing.”
“I’m a borrower.”
“You knew that.”
“No.”
“Of course you did.”
Paige looked up.
“You probably forgot. You signed a million things before Canada.”
I looked at my signature.
It was good.
Very good.
Better than Gwen’s on the deed.
“Where did the loan money go?”
“Into the house.”
“Which account?”
Mom’s voice sharpened.
“Why are you interrogating me?”
I smiled.
“I’m not.”
I tapped the paperwork.
“My lawyer will ask.”
That fixed everything.
Mom relaxed.
“I’ll get the statements.”
I continued.
At four, Paige left to pick up Tyler.
Mom went upstairs to change.
I walked into the kitchen.
Gwen stood at the sink.
I whispered, “We’re leaving.”
Her shoulders tightened.
“Tonight?”
“Now.”
“Your mother—”
“Is upstairs.”
“Gavin.”
“I photographed enough.”
“What about the toolbox?”
“We’ll deal with it legally.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You don’t understand. That’s where she keeps the originals.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard them.”
“What originals?”
“The papers from your dad.”
My father had been dead nine years.
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
I thought of the storage-unit key.
“Fine.”
I pulled out my phone.
“I’m booking a hotel. We go out the back.”
Gwen grabbed my arm.
“You can’t take your suitcase.”
“I don’t care.”
“Your passport?”
My passport was upstairs.
My wallet too.
I had fallen back into the habits of home within one day.
“Damn it.”
“I’ll wait here.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Gavin.”
Something in her voice stopped me.
“I’ve waited four years.”
She gave the smallest smile.
“I can wait five minutes.”
I went upstairs.
My suitcase sat open on the bed.
Passport inside.
Wallet.
Laptop.
I shoved everything into the bag.
Then I noticed my bedside drawer was open.
I had closed it that morning.
The photocopy of the spousal release was gone.
I heard footsteps behind me.
Mom stood in the doorway.
She held the paper.
“Looking for this?”
I froze.
Her face had changed completely.
No silk-blouse warmth.
No proud mother.
“What are you doing, Gavin?”
I let my shoulders drop.
“Nothing.”
“You’re leaving.”
“Going to a hotel.”
“With her.”
“Yes.”
Mom folded the release.
“You come home after four years, hear one story from that woman, and turn against your own blood?”
“My wife is my family.”
“She is the reason this entire project is stuck.”
There it was.
I kept my voice low.
“What project?”
Mom realized too late.
Her mouth closed.
I stepped closer.
“The refinance?”
Silence.
“Why do you need Gwen’s signature?”
“You don’t understand real estate.”
“Explain it.”
Mom’s eyes hardened.
“I saved this family while you ran off to Canada.”
“I worked.”
“And I stayed.”
She jabbed one finger toward the floor.
“I dealt with contractors. Taxes. Your wife. Everything.”
“And the truck?”
“Paige deserved something.”
“The jewelry?”
“I deserved something.”
“At least we found honesty.”
She slapped the paper against my chest.
“That house exists because of me.”
“The money came from me.”
“You sent money because you could.”
Her voice rose.
“Do you know what Paige and I gave up while you were playing hardworking husband in Canada?”
I stared at her.
Then she said something I would remember for years.
“You owe us more than you owe Gwen.”
A noise came from downstairs.
A door slammed.
Then Gwen screamed my name.
I ran.
Paige stood in the kitchen gripping Gwen’s cardigan.
Tyler was behind her.
Gwen’s back was against the refrigerator.
“What are you doing?”
Paige released her.
“She was stealing.”
“What?”
Paige held up my phone charger and a folded envelope.
“Trying to sneak documents out.”
The envelope fell open.
A bank statement landed on the tile.
Not Mom’s bank.
Not mine.
CMB Federal Credit Union.
Account holder:
GWEN E. COLE.
Balance:
$43,870.
I stared at my wife.
Mom came down behind me.
May you like
Her voice was almost pleased.
“Now ask your poor starving wife where she got forty-three thousand dollars.”
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