Chapter 7 - THE DESPERATE OFFER
On Wednesday afternoon, Arthur Vance and I sat in a private conference room at the County Jail.
Across the metal table sat my mother, Brenda.
She looked horrifying. In six days, the arrogance that had sustained her for fifty years had completely evaporated. Her silver hair was greasy, her face lined with exhaustion, her orange jumpsuit hanging loose over her shoulders.
Sitting beside her was a hired private defense attorney named Miller—no relation—whom Travis had somehow managed to secure using his mother's remaining credit card limits.
"Emily..." my mother whispered, reaching her trembling, cuffed hands across the table. "Emily, please... look at me..."
I didn't reach back. I sat back in my chair, my black cast resting comfortably on the table.
"Speak to her attorney, Brenda," I said flatly. "I’m only here to listen to your settlement offer."
Her lawyer, Mr. Miller, cleared his throat nervously. "Miss Miller... your mother is willing to sign a full quitclaim deed transferring her entire legal interest in the Elm Street property to you immediately."
I raised an eyebrow. "In exchange for what?"
"In exchange for you dropping the criminal charges and signing a Non-Prosecution Affidavit with the District Attorney," Mr. Miller said quickly. "Brenda cannot survive a state prison sentence. She is fifty-two years old. If she goes to trial on First-Degree Aggravated Assault, she is looking at five to eight years mandatory."
I looked at my mother.
The woman who had watched me work two jobs while she sat on her porch. The woman who had let me pay her mortgage while calling me a "pathetic leech." The woman who had thrown a concrete brick at my arm and laughed while I bled on the grass.
"Fifty-two years old," I repeated softly.
"Yes, honey!" Brenda cried out, tears streaming down her face. "I made a mistake! I was stressed! Travis was pressuring me about money, and I lost my temper! You know how my nerves get! Please, Emily... I gave you life!"
"You didn't give me life, Brenda," I said, my voice dropping into a register so cold it made her defense lawyer flinch. "You used my life to finance yours."
"Emily, please!" she begged, trying to grab my hand.
Arthur Vance stepped forward, sliding a legal document across the table.
"Here is our counter-offer, Mr. Miller," Arthur said smoothly.
Brenda’s lawyer picked up the document and read it. His eyes widened.
"This... this is a total asset surrender," Mr. Miller gasped. "You’re demanding the quitclaim deed to the house, full financial restitution of seventy-two thousand dollars for back mortgage payments, and a civil damages payout of fifty thousand dollars from her retirement IRA!"
"That is correct," Arthur said. "And in exchange, Emily will agree not to request maximum sentencing enhancements at trial. The State will still proceed with the felony assault charges, but the DA will recommend a reduced sentence of two years in county corrections followed by three years of probation."
"Two years in jail?!" Brenda shrieked, slamming her cuffed hands against the table. "You want me to go to jail for two years?!"
I stood up from my chair.
I looked down at my mother, holding my father's old silver locket in my palm—a locket she had hidden from me for ten years after he died.
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"Two years in jail is a bargain, Brenda," I said, leaning over the table until my face was twelve inches from hers. "Because if we go to a jury trial with that 4K video footage... you're doing eight."
I turned my back on her, walked out of the conference room, and let the heavy steel door click shut behind me.
