Frank entered quietly and sat beside her on the windowsill. He held two mugs of something hot. Tea with honey and lemon.
“Zena says it’s the best remedy for everything.”
Elena took the mug, wrapping her hands around it. Warmth.
“I was just thinking,” she began, then fell silent.
“About what?”
“About what an thinking,” she began, then fell silent.
“About what?”
“About what an idiot I was.”
“You warned me. You said, ‘Wait. Get to know him better.’ You said, ‘Don’t rush with the condo.’ And I thought you were just jealous, that you didn’t want to let me go.”
“Elena, no.”
“Uncle Frank, I have to say this. I behaved horribly. I didn’t call for months. I missed your birthday. I believed everything he said. And now…”
She started crying again, this time out loud.
Frank set his mug down, put his arm around her, and pulled her close.
“Shh, kiddo. Shh. You’re not to blame for any of this.”
“I am.”
“No. The one to blame is the one who lied, who manipulated, who threw you out on the street. Not you.”
He spoke quietly, firmly, the way he always did when she was hurting, the way he had after her parents died, when she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t breathe.
“You’ll survive,” he said. “We’ll survive. And then we’ll win.”
“How?” she whispered. “They have connections, documents. Everything looks legal.”
“Nothing about it is legal. They deceived you, forced you to sign papers under duress. That’s called fraud. And people go to prison for it.”
Elena looked up.
“You really think so?”
“I don’t think. I know. Arthur is coming tomorrow. He’s the best lawyer in the city, and he owes me.”
Outside, the last fireworks fizzled out. The new year had begun.
“This year we survive,” Frank said. “Next year we win.”
On January 2nd, Arthur Vance arrived at the guest house. He was a short, lean man with a neat gray goatee and sharp eyes behind his glasses. He spoke softly, never raising his voice, but every word carried weight. In court, he was feared not for his volume, but for his meticulousness. He could find a hole in any case.
Elena told him everything from the beginning. How she met Max. How they married. How she gradually lost contact with her friends and her uncle. How she signed the documents in the hospital. How she ended up on the street.
Arthur listened, taking notes in a legal pad.
“The deed you signed,” he said finally. “Did you read it?”
“No. Derek said it was just a formality for the baby’s trust.”
“I see. That’s our first angle. You were misled about the nature of the document. Second, you signed it under extreme stress, on bed rest, between contractions. Are there medical records?”
“They should be at the hospital.”
“Good. Third, Derek Crawford works at the county recorder’s office. If he prepared this deed, and especially if he acted as a witness to the signing…” Arthur smirked. “That’s a conflict of interest, abuse of power, and possibly document tampering.”
Frank leaned forward.
“What do we need?”
“A handwriting analysis. If we can prove the signature is fraudulent or was made under duress, the deed will be invalidated. Witness testimony from the neighbors, the medical staff, and preferably…” Arthur paused. “Preferably we find other victims.”
“Other victims?”
“Schemes like this are rarely a one-time thing. If Derek has pulled this before, it will significantly strengthen our position.”
Elena remembered something.
“He has an ex-wife. I saw her once at some family gathering. She looked at me strangely. Then she said, ‘You poor girl.’ I didn’t understand it.”
Arthur and Frank exchanged a look.
“Her name?” Arthur asked.
“Vera, I think.”
“Vera Crawford, though she probably changed her name after the divorce.”
Arthur wrote it down.
“We’ll find her.”
On January 3rd, the Crawfords struck back.
A call came for Elena from the police. A formal voice informed her that a report had been filed against her for child abduction. The complainant: Maxwell Dennis Crawford, father of the minor Timothy Maxwell Crawford. Elena was ordered to appear at the station to give a statement.
She stood with the phone in her hand, unable to speak.
Abducting her own son.
Frank took the phone from her, spoke with the officer, and wrote down the address and time.
“It’s a bluff,” he said. “A mother can’t abduct her own child.”
“But Max is the father.”
“So what? Your rights are equal. Until a court rules on custody, neither parent can abduct the child from the other. This is a family dispute, not a criminal case. They’re applying pressure, trying to scare you, to make you break and hand over Timmy. You won’t break.”
Arthur arrived an hour later, read the summons, and grunted.
“Classic. They have to take the report. They’ll conduct an inquiry, confirm the child’s location, make sure he’s safe. That’s it.”
“But what if they—”
Arthur took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief.
“You are the mother. The child is with you. You are not hiding him, not taking him out of the country, not endangering him. No court in the world will take your son away based on a report from an ex-husband who threw you out on the street.”
Elena looked at him, and something in her eyes shifted. Not hope, not yet, but the fear was receding.
“We will go to the station together,” Arthur continued. “I will represent your interests. We will give our statement, document everything, and then we will file a counter-suit.”
“A counter-suit?”
“For fraud, forgery, coercion, unlawful eviction, and cruelty.”
Arthur smiled, and it was not a kind smile.
“You see, the Crawfords think the best defense is a good offense. They are mistaken.”
On the evening of January 5th, another woman appeared at the guest house. Elena was in the kitchen feeding Timmy when she heard voices in the hall. Frank was talking to someone. Then footsteps, and a stranger appeared in the kitchen doorway. About thirty-five. Short haircut, sharp features, a piercing gaze. Dressed in a worn leather jacket and jeans. She smelled of cigarettes and the cold.
“Marina,” Frank introduced her. “Private investigator. She’ll be helping us.”
Marina gave Elena a quick appraising look and nodded.
“This the one?” she asked Frank.
“Marina,” Frank said, his voice holding a warning.
“All right, all right. Sorry. Habit. At my old corporate security gig, they taught us to call a spade a spade.”
She plopped down on a chair opposite Elena.
“So, honey, I found your Vera.”
Elena froze.
“And she’s very eager to talk.”
