“That’s not what happened.”
“You weren’t there. You don’t know.”
“I’ve seen the letters. The ones he sent. The ones you returned.” I watched her face, looking for something, shame maybe, or regret. I didn’t find either. “I’ve talked to his lawyer. I know about the custody battle. I know about the restraining order. I know you kept us from him for 20 years.”
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she stood up, smoothing her skirt.
“I did what I had to do. Your father was dangerous.”
“No, he wasn’t. The lawyer showed me the court records. There was no evidence of violence. No police reports, no witnesses. You made it up.”
“I had to protect my daughters.”
“You had to protect your pride. You couldn’t stand that he wanted to leave you, so you made sure he never got to see us again.”
I kept my voice even, steady.
“Do you know what he was doing all those years? While you were telling us he’d abandoned us, he was building a life, a company. He was waiting for a chance to reconnect with his children, and you made sure it never happened.”
Her expression hardened.
“And I suppose he told you all about his wonderful success while leaving you nothing.”
“He left me everything.”
The words hung in the air.
My mother’s face went pale. She sat back down slowly.
“What?”
“Everything. His company, his investments, all of it. He left nothing to Karine.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Karine lied, just like she always does.”
I sat down in the chair across from her.
“She found Dad years ago. She showed up asking for money and he gave her some because that’s who he was. And then she kept coming back, making up crisis after crisis, taking everything she could until he finally saw through it and cut her off.”
My mother’s jaw tightened.
“If that’s true—”
“It is true. It’s all in the court records from when she tried to contest the will.”
I leaned forward.
“Did you know when Karine was bleeding him dry? Did you know what she was doing? Did you help her find him?”
“How dare you?”
“Because she knew about the inheritance 3 years ago. She knew I was the beneficiary. And she still moved into my guest room. She still took my husband. She still cleaned out my bank accounts.”
I paused.
“She was trying to hurt me because I got what she wanted.”
My mother’s face was a mask.
“I want you to leave,” I said.
“Margaret—”
“Now.”
She stood, gathered her purse, walked to the door. Then she turned, and for just a moment, I saw something flicker in her eyes. The look of someone who’d been outmaneuvered and couldn’t figure out how.
“This isn’t over,” she said.
“Yes, it is.”
I closed the door.
6 months later, I learned what happened to Nathan. I wasn’t looking for the information. I’d done my best to cut off contact with anyone who might tell me about him or Karine. But Amy, my friend from Raleigh, called me one afternoon with news.
“Remember Bradley, her first husband?”
“What about him?”
“He’s suing both of them, Nathan and Karine, for fraud.”
Apparently, they borrowed a huge amount of money from him right after they left North Carolina, some investment scheme, something about cryptocurrency, and it collapsed. He wants everything back with interest, and they don’t have it.
I sat on my porch watching the sun filter through the trees.
“My fiancé’s cousin works at the courthouse in Charlotte,” Amy continued. “The whole thing’s a mess. Nathan tried to run again, bought a plane ticket to Costa Rica, but Bradley’s lawyers got a freeze on his passport. He’s stuck. And Karine—”
She paused.
“Karine’s been living in a motel off I-77 for the past 2 months. Credit cards maxed out. Can’t even afford a lawyer.”
Good.
Amy was quiet for a moment.
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“I did. Thanks.”
I hung up and sat there for a while thinking. Nathan, who’d charmed his way through life, trapped in a country he was trying to flee. Karine, who’d spent her whole life chasing other people’s money, finally running out of people to take from.
I waited to feel something. Triumph. Maybe satisfaction.
