Mom closed her eyes.
I felt sick.
“How much?”
“David—”
“How much?”
“It wasn’t stealing!”
Mom opened her eyes.
For the first time all morning, there was anger in them.
Not fear.
Not sadness.
Anger.
I said, “You took money from an eighty-two-year-old woman without permission.”
“She has plenty!”
The words came out before Vanessa could stop them.
Mom heard every syllable.
The room fell silent.
Then she held out her hand.
“Give me the phone.”
I hesitated.
Her hand stayed steady.
I gave it to her.
“Vanessa.”
Vanessa immediately softened.
“Margaret, please, I can explain—”
Mom’s voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Harold found something else.”
Silence.
Vanessa stopped crying.
Mom looked directly at Harold.
Then said, “And I think you already know what it is.”
The call disconnected.
Vanessa had hung up.
Harold leaned back.
“That reaction concerns me.”
“What did you find?” I asked.
He opened the second
