Mr.
Robles slid the first document from the yellow envelope while Elaine stood behind Derek looking as though every drop of blood had left her face.
Derek looked from the lawyer to his mother.
“What did you investigate?” he asked.
Nobody answered immediately.
That silence changed him.
Only minutes earlier, he had walked through the door proud of himself.
He had announced that he had given his entire paycheck to his mother and arranged an apartment for her.
He had expected gratitude, maybe even admiration.
Now two police officers stood outside the home he had casually called “ours,” his wife was holding three years of financial records, and his mother was whispering for the lawyer not to speak.
Mr.
Robles lowered his eyes to the paper.
“The apartment you said you rented for your mother,” he said carefully, “was already registered in her name.”
Derek stared at him.
“What?”
“It has been in her name for six years.”
For a moment Derek did not move.
Then he laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“No.
That’s impossible.
She told me the landlord needed the deposit immediately.”
Mr.
Robles held the document toward him.
Derek reached for it.
The page shook slightly between his fingers.
Elaine stepped forward.
“This is ridiculous.
You people don’t understand anything.”
I watched Derek read.
His eyes moved down the page once.
Then again.
He turned toward his mother.
“Your name is on it.”
Elaine crossed her arms.
“Of course my name is on paperwork.
That doesn’t mean what she’s making it mean.”
I said nothing.
I had spent too many years answering for people who always found another excuse.
Derek looked at Mr.
Robles.
“She owns it?”
“Yes.”
“For six years?”
“Yes.”
“And I just gave her money to rent it?”
Mr.
Robles glanced at me before answering.
“That is one of the questions the complaint addresses.”
Derek slowly turned back toward Elaine.
“Mom.”
His voice sounded different now.
Not angry yet.
Wounded.
Elaine lifted her chin.
“I needed help.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
