Chapter 2 - The Three Days Before the Party
Three days earlier, Amy Bradley had woken at 2:17 in the morning to the sound of Frederick crying.
She knew immediately something was wrong.
His cry was different.
Not hungry.
Not frightened.
Uncomfortable.
She hurried into the nursery and found him flushed beneath his light blue sleep clothes.
When she touched his forehead, heat met her palm.
By sunrise, Frederick had a mild fever, no appetite, and wanted nothing except to be held.
The pediatrician's office told Amy to monitor him, keep him hydrated, and call again if his symptoms worsened.
Amy immediately wanted to cancel the birthday party.
Teresa refused.
"You cannot cancel a child's first birthday because he has a little temperature."
They had been speaking by phone.
Amy stood in the kitchen with Frederick on her hip.
"It's more than that. He's exhausted."
"So put him down for a nap before people arrive."
"Teresa, there are almost forty people coming."
"Thirty two."
"That's still too many."
Teresa sighed dramatically.
"Connor had proper birthday parties when he was a baby."
Amy closed her eyes.
There it was.
The comparison.
There was always a comparison.
Connor had slept through the night at eight weeks.
Connor had walked at ten months.
Connor had never been a picky eater.
Connor's clothes were always spotless.
Connor had never had a public tantrum.
Connor had apparently spent his entire childhood behaving like a miniature ambassador.
Amy sometimes wondered how the adult Connor she married had survived the expectations surrounding the imaginary child Connor described by his mother.
"I'll talk to Connor," Amy said.
"Don't bother him at work."
"He is Frederick's father."
"And he's managing a company."
Amy looked down at Frederick.
The baby rested his head against her collarbone.
"So am I."
There was silence.
Before Frederick's birth, Amy worked as an interior designer and managed renovation projects throughout Nashville.
She had temporarily reduced her workload after the baby arrived.
Teresa had apparently interpreted that decision as proof that Amy did nothing.
"Of course," Teresa said. "Your little decorating projects."
Amy's grip tightened on the phone.
Before she could respond, the front door opened.
Connor entered carrying coffee and a paper bag.
He saw Amy's expression.
"Mother?"
Amy nodded.
Connor held out his hand.
"Give me the phone."
She hesitated.
He raised his eyebrows.
Amy passed it to him.
"Mom."
Whatever Teresa said, Connor listened for several seconds.
"No. Amy's right."
Amy watched him.
"If Frederick is still sick tomorrow, we'll cancel."
Another pause.
Connor's expression hardened.
"I don't care how many relatives you've invited."
Amy heard Teresa's voice rising through the speaker.
Connor ended the call.
He tossed the phone onto the counter.
"I love her."
Amy gave him a tired smile.
"I know."
"But sometimes I understand why Dad used to disappear into the garage."
Amy almost laughed.
Connor kissed her forehead.
Then his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
His smile faded.
"Who is it?" Amy asked.
"Mason."
Connor opened the message.
There were only five words.
Need to talk privately. Important.
Connor frowned.
Amy adjusted Frederick.
"What does he want?"
"No idea."
Connor called him.
Mason did not answer.
A second message appeared.
Not by phone.
Connor stared at it.
That was strange.
Mason was Connor's cousin, but they had never been especially close.
Mason's mother, Betsy, was Teresa's younger sister.
For years Mason had helped his father with a small bookkeeping and property management business. After his father suffered a stroke, Mason took over most of the office work.
Connor occasionally saw him at family gatherings.
He was polite.
Nervous.
Usually eager to leave.
The messages were unlike him.
Connor typed back.
Come by tonight.
Mason's response arrived immediately.
Can't. Your mother is watching everything.
Connor read the sentence twice.
"What?" Amy asked.
He showed her.
Amy felt the first quiet movement of fear.
"Watching what?"
"I don't know."
Connor called again.
No answer.
Then the messages disappeared.
Mason had deleted them.
Later that afternoon, Teresa arrived without warning.
She swept into the house carrying balloons, boxes, bags, disposable decorations, and two enormous floral arrangements.
Amy opened the door while holding Frederick.
"Teresa, what are you doing?"
"Preparing."
"We haven't decided whether the party is happening."
Teresa walked past her.
"Oh, don't be silly."
Aunt Betsy followed carrying a stack of gift bags.
She did not greet Amy.
Instead, she looked around the foyer as though inspecting it.
"You changed the console table."
Amy frowned.
"Six months ago."
"I liked the old one better."
Teresa entered the living room.
"Where is the cake going?"
"Nowhere yet."
Teresa ignored her.
"Probably the dining table."
Frederick stirred against Amy.
She lowered her voice.
"Please. He's trying to sleep."
Teresa glanced at the child.
"You hold him too much."
Amy stared at her.
"He is sick."
"Children learn helplessness."
"He's one."
Betsy laughed softly.
Amy looked toward her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No. Say it."
Betsy raised both hands.
"You're very sensitive."
Amy felt something inside her tighten.
Before she could respond, Teresa walked toward Connor's home office.
Amy followed.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for tape."
"There isn't tape in there."
Teresa opened the door anyway.
Amy stepped in front of her.
"Connor doesn't like anyone in his office."
Teresa stopped.
Her smile disappeared.
For one second, she looked genuinely angry.
Then she shrugged.
"Fine."
She turned away.
Amy watched her return to the living room.
Betsy lingered.
Her eyes flicked once toward the office door.
Then toward Amy.
That evening Connor searched the room.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
But inside the desk drawer where he kept their house documents, one folder had been moved.
He was certain of it.
"Did you take anything out?"
Amy shook her head.
Connor checked again.
The original copy of their closing paperwork was still there.
The mortgage records were there.
Insurance records.
Tax papers.
Everything looked normal.
Except one thing.
A photocopy of the original deed was missing.
Connor stared at the empty plastic sleeve.
Amy stood beside him.
"Could it be somewhere else?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Absolutely."
They looked at each other.
Connor immediately thought of Mason's message.
Your mother is watching everything.
The next morning, Teresa called.
Her voice was cheerful.
"Wonderful news. Frederick's party is back on."
Connor looked at Amy.
"We never said that."
Teresa laughed.
"Oh, Connor. Everyone is already coming."
Behind her voice, Connor heard another sound.
A printer.
Then a man's voice.
Low.
Professional.
"Mrs. Bradley, I need you to sign the second page."
Connor's expression changed.
"Where are you?"
Teresa went silent.
"Mom?"
"I'm shopping."
"Who was that?"
"No one."
The call ended.
Connor looked at his phone.
Amy whispered, "Mason?"
Connor tried his cousin again.
Straight to voicemail.
For the rest of the day, neither of them understood what was happening.
By the time guests began arriving for Frederick's birthday, Connor convinced himself that it was probably some unpleasant but ordinary family issue.
He could not have known that three days earlier, a document had been submitted to Davidson County containing his signature.
May you like
Amy's signature.
And a statement claiming that both of them had voluntarily transferred their home into a trust controlled by Teresa Bradley.
