This is not a crjme.
This is a family trying to do the right thing in a complicated situation.”
Behind me, the door opened.
Grandma Eleanor stood in the doorway in her housecoat, her gray hair loose, her eyes completely clear.
“Arthur,” she said.
He looked at her.
Something moved across his face — not guilt, exactly.
Something more calculated than that.
“Mom.” He took a step forward.
“I’m glad you’re safe.
I was worried about you.”
“Were you,” she said.
It wasn’t a question.
“You left the facility before we could explain everything properly.
If you’d just given us a chance —”
“You left me there, Arthur.” Her voice was quiet.
Absolute.
“You walked me through the door and you left.
You didn’t say goodbye.
You didn’t look back.”
“We were coming back.
There was a misunderstanding with the paperwork —”
“Stop.” She said it the way she must have said it to him when he was seven years old.
He stopped.
“I want you to look at me and tell me that you did not set up online access to my bank account without my knowledge.”
Silence.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Mom, the finances were getting complicated —”
“Tell me you didn’t do it.”
He couldn’t.
Wendy put her hand on his arm.
“Arthur, maybe we should —”
“No,” Grandma said.
“Let him answer.”
Arthur straightened.
The managed expression came back.
“I did what I had to do to protect you.
Everything I’ve done has been for your benefit.
If you’d cooperate instead of running to Ivan and the police, we could resolve this quietly and keep it in the family.”
“It is in the family,” I said.
“That’s why the police are involved.”
His eyes moved to me.
The warmth in them, what little there had been, was gone.
“You have no idea what you’ve started,” he said.
“I think I do.”
He looked at Grandma one more time.
She met his gaze without moving.
He turned and walked down the hallway.
Wendy followed, her heels sharp on the floor.
