Chapter 8 - My Mother Had Been Planning This Before the BirthThe following morning, Officer Reyes returned with a second officer to collect statements from Clara and me.
I showed them the new recording.
This time, Officer Reyes didn't ask me to explain why I believed my mother was acting deliberately.
He had heard her say it herself.
Still, he reminded me that the recordings needed to be authenticated and that the identity of the other caller remained unknown.
“We need to establish who was on the phone,” he said. “And we need to know what was meant by the reference to your father.”
“Can you trace the number?”
“We can request records if the circumstances and legal requirements justify it. But first, we need to preserve the original recordings.”
While the officers worked, I contacted the baby monitor company. Its support team confirmed that some of the clips had been uploaded automatically to the account associated with Clara's email. They gave us instructions for downloading the original files.
There were more recordings than we had initially seen.
Some had been hidden in a separate archive.
The oldest dated back nearly six weeks.
I opened one.
My mother sat at the dining table, holding a printed document. Across from her was a man wearing a navy suit. His face was partially obscured by the edge of the frame.
The audio was clear enough to hear their conversation.
“Once the child is born, Daniel will have to make a choice,” my mother said.
The man replied, “He may choose his wife.”
“Then we make sure he understands what that choice means.”
She slid the document across the table.
The man looked at it.
“And if she refuses to cooperate?”
My mother leaned back.
“She won't have a choice.”
He glanced at the nursery.
“You're certain this is worth the risk?”
She gave him a cold smile.
“It's my grandson.”
The man did not look convinced.
“No. It's the last piece of the arrangement.”
My fingers froze above the screen.
The last piece of what arrangement?
Before I could replay the sentence, the video ended.
I downloaded the clip and sent it to Officer Reyes.
Clara watched beside me, breathing shallowly.
“That man came to the house before,” she whispered.
I turned toward her.
“You remember him?”
“He introduced himself as a family adviser. Your mother said he was helping with some estate paperwork.”
“What was his name?”
“I don't remember. She called him Mr. Keane, I think.”
I searched my mother's emails through the shared household account, which she had left signed in on an old tablet.
There were several messages from a lawyer named Andrew Keane.
He worked at a firm specializing in family disputes and estate planning.
The subject lines made my skin crawl.
MERCER FAMILY CARE ARRANGEMENT.
PROPOSED TEMPORARY GUARDIANSHIP.
CONFIDENTIAL: FINANCIAL AUTHORITY AND BENEFICIARY PROVISIONS.
I opened the first email.
Mr. Keane had written that he would prepare draft documents for discussion, but that any custody decision would depend on the law and the relevant facts. He had also warned my mother not to misrepresent Clara's medical condition or sign another person's name.
My mother had replied:
I understand. We need to move before Daniel becomes sentimental about the situation.
There was no ambiguity in that sentence.
She regarded my love for Clara as an obstacle.
I showed the email to Officer Reyes.
He copied the relevant information and told me not to access anything else without appropriate guidance.
Then I contacted Mr. Keane's office.
I explained that I was a client of neither his firm nor my mother's counsel and requested a meeting to discuss documents bearing my wife's name.
His assistant initially refused.
When I mentioned the disputed guardianship paper and the recordings, she put me on hold.
A few minutes later, Mr. Keane himself answered.
“Mr. Mercer,” he said, “I understand you have serious concerns.”
“You prepared documents for my mother to take custody of my son.”
“I prepared draft documents at her request. I did not file a custody petition, and I did not advise anyone to forge a signature.”
“But you knew what she wanted.”
“I knew she wanted to explore a contingency plan. I made clear that her wishes did not automatically give her legal authority over your child.”
“Did you tell her she could claim my wife was mentally unstable?”
“No.”
“Did you know my mother had canceled Clara's follow-up appointment?”
“No.”
“Did you know she had forced Clara to cook after childbirth?”
There was a long silence.
“I was not aware of those allegations.”
I nearly laughed.
Everyone had an explanation.
Everyone had a way to remain clean while Evelyn made a mess of other people's lives.
“Why were you discussing my father's death with her?” I asked.
Mr. Keane did not answer immediately.
Then he said, “I believe that question is connected to a separate matter.”
“What matter?”
“I cannot discuss confidential client communications with you.”
“Did my father leave behind an estate?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“Was my mother named trustee?”
“I cannot confirm specific arrangements without reviewing the relevant documents and my obligations.”
I closed my eyes.
My father had died twelve years ago. My mother had controlled the family narrative ever since. Now a lawyer was discussing a financial arrangement involving my newborn son, and a hidden recording suggested it was connected to my father's secrets.
I needed answers.
Mr. Keane finally agreed to review the disputed documents with the appropriate parties, but he warned me that he would not discuss confidential information simply because I was angry with my mother.
I understood his position.
I also understood that he had been sitting at my mother's dining table while she planned to take over my family.
After the call, I searched the cloud archive once more.
A new clip appeared.
It showed my mother alone in the living room, speaking to someone through the front door.
I could not see the visitor's face.
But I heard the words that made me sit upright.
“Once the boy is in my care, Daniel will sign whatever I put in front of him.”
The visitor asked something I couldn't make out.
My mother answered clearly.
“He did it after his father died. He'll do it again.”
I played the sentence repeatedly.
He did it after his father died.
I remembered signing documents as a teenager.
My mother had said they were necessary for the bank, the funeral home, and the estate.
I had signed without reading them because I was grieving.
May you like
What had I given her?
And what had my mother been trying to obtain from me ever since?
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