Chapter 6 - The Unraveling of the Golden Boy
By Monday morning, the war had moved from our kitchen to the digital arena.
Donna, unable to approach within five hundred feet of my house, had taken to Facebook. She posted a black-and-white photo of herself holding Molly in the hospital on the day the twins were born, accompanied by a four-paragraph manifesto about "grandparent alienation," "postpartum mental health crises," and "mothers who weaponize children to destroy families."
The comments were a cesspool of suburban sympathy from her bridge club and Derek’s cousins:
> *'Oh Donna, stay strong! These young mothers are so fragile nowadays.'*
> *'Postpartum psychosis is so real. Praying Derek gets those sweet babies away from her!'*
> *'Call the state representative! Grandparents have rights!'*
I didn't respond. Eleanor Vance had given me strict orders: *Total digital silence. Let them dig their own graves with their thumbs.*
At 10:00 AM, Eleanor arrived at my house.
She was fifty-five, wore a bespoke charcoal wool suit, and carried a leather briefcase that looked old enough to have witnessed the fall of the Berlin Wall. She didn't accept my offer of tea; she laid out four manila folders across my dining room table and pulled out a Montblanc pen.
"Here’s where we stand," Eleanor said, her voice like gravel moving through silk. "Donna’s attorney filed an emergency motion to quash the protective order this morning, alleging that the formula incident was an 'accidental misidentification of nutrition by a fatigued caregiver.' They are attaching three character references from Derek’s partners at the firm."
"And Derek?" I asked.
"Derek has filed for immediate fifty-fifty temporary custody and exclusive possession of this residence, claiming you have locked him out unlawfully." Eleanor offered a small, cold smile. "They made one fatal error."
"What’s that?"
"They filed under the assumption that we only have the footage from the nursery." Eleanor pulled a thick stack of bank printouts from the second folder. "They didn't know your brother had already mirrored Derek’s iCloud drive before Derek thought to change his security questions."
I leaned forward. "What was on the drive?"
"Derek didn't just transfer thirty thousand dollars to Donna’s LLC," Eleanor said, tapping a red line on the spreadsheet. "He took out a home equity line of credit against this property four months ago. One hundred and twenty thousand dollars. He forged your signature on the electronic notary application."
The room seemed to drop ten degrees. "He did *what*?"
"The notary was a secretary at his father’s accounting firm," Eleanor said smoothly. "She has already rolled over. She signed an affidavit two hours ago admitting that Donna brought the paperwork in and that Derek confirmed the signature over speakerphone. The money didn't go to home renovations, Megan. It went to Donna’s commercial landlords to stave off an eviction notice on her boutique."
"That's grand larceny," Clara said from the kitchen doorway, where she was holding Sadie. "And bank fraud."
"It’s multiple felonies," Eleanor agreed. "And that brings us to the Department of Children and Family Services. The CPS caseworker, a woman named Janice Thorne, has been assigned to Molly’s case. She reviewed the hospital records and the nursery footage this morning. She called me thirty minutes ago."
Eleanor pulled a single sheet of paper from the third folder.
"Janice Thorne has determined that Molly’s exposure to the allergen was intentional child endangerment with extreme risk of death. She is forwarding the file to the State's Attorney’s office with a recommendation for criminal charges against Donna Miller."
My hands gripped the arms of my dining chair. "And Derek?"
"Derek’s failure to intervene despite prior knowledge makes him an accessory," Eleanor said. "The caseworker is recommending that Derek’s contact with both children remain strictly supervised by a licensed therapeutic monitor at his sole expense. No overnights. No unsupervised visits. No contact with Donna Miller permitted anywhere near the children until the girls reach the age of eighteen."
A knock sounded at the front door.
My heart jumped into my throat. "Is that them?"
May you like
"That," Eleanor said, standing up and smoothing her skirt, "will be Detective Henderson from the financial crimes division, and Detective Alvarez from the special victims unit. Open the door, Megan. It’s time to show Donna Miller what an elementary school art teacher can do when someone tries to harm her babies."
***
