Chapter 4 - The Million Dollars That Never Existed
My mother called from jail.
I didn't answer.
Godfrey called.
I didn't answer.
Then relatives started.
Aunt Beatrice.
Uncle Leonard.
Cousins I hadn't heard from in years.
Your mother made mistakes.
Godfrey is your brother.
Think about the family.
I had thought about the family.
That was why I wasn't dropping anything.
Phedra was family.
For years, everyone used that word to mean the people I was born with.
Apparently the woman I chose didn't count.
That ended.
I gave investigators everything.
Transfers.
Messages.
Binder.
Settlement lie.
Phedra gave her statement when physically strong enough.
The criminal process moved slowly.
Cancer didn't.
Chemotherapy resumed.
The first month was brutal.
Phedra vomited constantly.
Lost more weight before gaining any.
Developed an infection.
Spent another week hospitalized.
I stayed.
My employer in Calgary called.
My supervisor, Mark, said:
“Take the time.”
“I don't know when I'm coming back.”
“Then don't know yet.”
The company had a hardship policy.
I hadn't known.
For four years, I assumed missing work meant losing everything.
Again, I had never asked.
My coworkers collected money.
Men who had spent years insulting my cooking sent nearly $9,000.
I cried when Mark told me.
“Don't make this weird,” he said.
Too late.
The legal case uncovered more.
Selina had told relatives Phedra was stealing.
She used that story to explain why Phedra had no money.
Godfrey claimed the auto shop came from a business loan.
In reality, my money funded much of it.
The new SUV?
Purchased with money transferred three days after I sent a $12,000 Christmas bonus.
I had told Mom:
Use this to make Christmas special.
Phedra received a sweater.
Used.
From Selina.
My mother bought herself the hummingbird necklace?
No.
She stole that too.
Police returned it to Phedra.
I fastened it around her neck after her third chemotherapy cycle.
She touched the pendant.
“I thought I'd never see this again.”
“I'll buy you another.”
“No.”
She smiled.
“This one survived.”
So had she.
Then came a twist nobody expected.
The real settlement arrived.
My attorney in Canada called.
The workplace claim had resolved.
Not one million.
$164,000 after fees and deductions.
I laughed when he told me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You don't want it?”
“Oh, I want it.”
I used part for Phedra's treatment and recovery.
Part paid legal expenses.
The rest went into an account in both our names.
Only ours.
When Selina learned the real amount, she accused me through her attorney of deliberately deceiving her.
My lawyer's response was simple.
“There is no law requiring a son to accurately disclose hypothetical settlement amounts to his mother.”
I enjoyed that more than I should have.
Godfrey eventually accepted a plea.
The evidence against him was overwhelming.
He admitted forging documents.
Misusing funds.
Participating in the false insurance application.
He tried blaming Selina.
Selina blamed him.
Greed created alliances quickly.
Consequences dissolved them faster.
Mom went to trial.
She testified.
Bad idea.
She claimed Phedra had voluntarily given her financial control.
Prosecutors showed the drafts from Phedra's phone.
She claimed Phedra refused treatment.
Doctors testified Phedra repeatedly attempted to schedule appointments.
She claimed the shed arrangement was temporary.
Photographs showed clothing, bedding, medication containers, and personal belongings stored there for months.
Then prosecutors showed a message Selina sent Godfrey.
Stop giving her extra food. Damian's money is for the shop until we get through this quarter.
The courtroom went silent.
I looked at my mother.
For years, I wondered whether I'd misunderstood.
Whether anger made everything look worse.
That message removed ambiguity.
My wife had gone hungry because Mom considered feeding her a misuse of my money.
Selina was convicted on multiple counts.
The sentence was substantial.
Not life.
Not forever.
Enough.
At sentencing, Mom looked at me.
“I raised you.”
I nodded.
“You owe me.”
That was the last thing she said directly to me for years.
And finally, I understood the sentence beneath every other sentence she'd ever spoken.
You owe me.
Money.
Loyalty.
Silence.
Obedience.
Even my wife.
I stood.
“No.”
May you like
One word.
Then I walked out.
