A residence being built for children in foster care.
Bethany would handle structural work.
The director, Pam, walked us through the program requirements.
“What did the kids ask for?” I said.
She smiled.
“A table.”
“A table?”
“One long enough that everyone can sit together.”
That stayed with me.
The same week, an attorney invited me to a family meeting at the Glen View house.
We sat in the dining room.
All twelve velvet chairs were still there.
Glenn’s attorney slid an affidavit across the table.
It said I had known about and approved the August revision.
It also said I had authorized the construction draw.
In exchange, Glenn would correct the tax filing.
He would actually pay me the $86,400 his company had already claimed it paid.
And he would arrange to resolve the Prescotts’ stone claim.
Mom leaned forward.
“You’d finally get paid.”
Bethany was beside me.
“What about the beam?”
The attorney produced a letter from an engineer Glenn had hired.
It called the beam serviceable.
Bethany read it.
“I want an independent inspection.”
Glenn’s jaw tightened.
I picked up the affidavit.
“I’ll answer Friday.”
I stayed at the house that night because it was late.
Around two in the morning, I found Mom in the kitchen drinking water.
For once, there were no cameras.
No guests.
No Glenn.
She sat across from me.
“My mother worked catering jobs,” she said.
I waited.
“When I was fourteen, she took me to help at one.”
Mom looked toward the dining room.
“It was somebody’s birthday. A girl about my age came into the kitchen afterward and told me to clean up after them.”
I stared at her.
“She said exactly that?”
Mom nodded.
“I promised myself my daughters would sit at the table.”
I let several seconds pass.
“You said the same words to me Saturday.”
Her face changed.
“I know.”
“You heard yourself?”
“Yes.”
We stood in the kitchen for another minute.
I waited for an apology.
None came.
I waited for her to ask what Glenn had done with my seal.
She didn’t.
In the morning, the affidavit lay on the counter.
Glenn had already signed it.
Mom had placed a pen across the page.
Beside it was a note.
Please.
Friday morning, Frank submitted my records to the tax agency.
I contacted the architecture licensing board.
I reported the missing seal, the altered drawing, and where I had found the embosser.
I sent my written statement and Bethany’s photograph to the bank.
Ray received a copy.
Then I texted Mom.
I won’t sign Glenn’s affidavit. I gave the records to the people responsible for reviewing them.
Kelsey posted a video that afternoon.
She was crying.
She said I was destroying the family over a paperwork misunderstanding.
People who had never met me formed opinions.
Bethany saw the video.