Chapter 9 - THE ACCOUNT MY FATHER-IN-LAW LEFT BEHIND
“IF DEREK FORGED MOM'S SIGNATURE, THEN SHE MAY BE A VICTIM TOO.”
Ryan spoke quietly as we drove away from Northside Youth Center.
The streets were almost empty.
It was nearly nine at night, and the headlights stretched across the dark pavement.
I glanced toward him.
“She may be a victim of financial misconduct,” I said. “But that doesn't erase the statement she made about the barbecue.”
“I know.”
“Or the way she treated Tessa.”
“I know that too.”
He tightened his hands around the steering wheel.
“I just keep thinking about Dad.”
Jack Mitchell had never been a wealthy man.
He'd taught shop classes, repaired old motorcycles, and coached neighborhood basketball teams.
When he died, dozens of former students attended his funeral.
Some were men in their forties.
Others were young adults still finding their way.
They all told similar stories.
Jack had given them something when they had very little.
A bicycle.
A meal.
A second chance.
After the funeral, people donated money to a scholarship fund in his memory.
That money was supposed to help local teenagers pay for equipment, sports participation fees, and educational opportunities.
Ryan had contributed too.
So had Marissa.
Even our wedding guests had been encouraged to donate instead of buying expensive gifts.
Now some of that money appeared to be missing.
And the possibility that Derek had used his own father's legacy to finance himself seemed to hurt Ryan more than the punch.
“I don't understand how someone can do that,” he whispered.
I looked through the windshield.
“Neither do I.”
The following morning, Diane called.
It was the first time we'd heard from her in several days.
Her voice sounded strange.
“Ryan, can you come over?”
He glanced toward me.
“Is everything okay?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Please bring Claire.”
We arrived twenty minutes later.
Diane answered the door without makeup.
Her blonde hair looked uncombed, and she wore the same cardigan I'd seen her wearing at Christmas.
She didn't invite us to sit in the living room.
Instead, she led us into Jack's old study.
Nothing much had changed since his death.
Books lined the shelves.
An old photograph of a high school basketball team sat on the desk.
And a wooden sign above the doorway read:
Character is what you do when no one is watching.
Ryan stared at it.
“Dad made that.”
Diane nodded.
“I know.”
She sat behind the desk.
Then she pulled a stack of papers from a drawer.
“Harold called me last night.”
Ryan leaned forward.
“What did he say?”
“He asked about several transactions from the memorial scholarship fund.”
“Did you authorize them?”
Diane looked down.
“Some.”
I waited.
“I signed three checks because Derek told me the center needed to reimburse his company for equipment purchases.”
“Did you see invoices?” Ryan asked.
“He showed me summaries.”
“Did you verify them?”
“No.”
“Mom.”
Her eyes filled.
“I trusted him.”
Ryan said nothing.
Diane pushed another document across the desk.
“These authorization forms also have my name on them.”
I studied the copies.
Several electronic approvals appeared to have been submitted using Diane's login credentials.
“I didn't submit these,” she whispered.
“Are you sure?” Ryan asked.
“Yes.”
“Did Derek have access to your account?”
She hesitated.
“Sometimes. I gave him the login information when I was having trouble with the system.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
“Mom, why?”
“He said it was easier if he handled everything.”
I looked at her carefully.
“Diane, you need independent legal advice. You should tell the accountant exactly which transactions you remember authorizing and which you dispute.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
Then she began crying.
“I didn't want to believe he'd do something like this.”
Ryan's expression softened.
For one moment, I thought he might reach across the desk and comfort her.
But he remained seated.
“Mom, there's something else we need to discuss.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“What?”
“Your statement about Claire.”
Diane froze.
Ryan continued.
“You said Claire attacked Derek without provocation.”
Her eyes moved toward me.
I held her gaze.
“Diane, you saw what happened.”
She swallowed.
“I was upset.”
“That doesn't explain why you signed a statement that wasn't true,” I said.
Her voice became defensive.
“Derek told me you were trying to get him arrested.”
“Ryan filed a report because Derek punched him.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you say Ryan was trying to calm everyone down when you watched Derek hit him?”
Diane looked away.
A long silence followed.
Finally, she whispered:
“Because Derek begged me.”
Ryan stared at her.
“What?”
“He said the incident would destroy his reputation. He said Claire was a professional fighter and everyone would believe she'd attacked him.”
“So you lied?” Ryan asked.
Diane began crying again.
“I thought I was protecting my son.”
Ryan rose from his chair.
“Which one?”
The question seemed to stop her breathing.
He looked at her with an expression I would never forget.
“Which son were you protecting, Mom?”
Diane opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Ryan nodded slowly.
“That's what I thought.”
He walked toward the door.
I followed.
Before leaving, I turned toward Diane.
“You can still correct your statement.”
She looked at me through tears.
“Would that fix anything?”
“No.”
I paused.
“But it would be a start.”
Two days later, Diane contacted Angela's office.
She submitted a written correction to her earlier account, acknowledging that Derek had struck Ryan before I intervened and that her original statement was inaccurate.
It wasn't a magical transformation.
She didn't suddenly become the mother Ryan needed.
And I didn't suddenly trust her.
But for the first time, she had chosen truth over convenience.
Ryan read the correction quietly.
Then he set it down.
“Dad would've wanted her to do that.”
“I think so.”
He looked at me.
“Do you think she'll change?”
“I don't know.”
That was the truth.
People can regret what they've done without being willing to change the behavior that caused it.
Only time would tell which kind of regret Diane felt.
Meanwhile, the nonprofit's accountant uncovered additional discrepancies.
Several scholarship disbursements had been recorded under the names of teenagers who didn't appear to have received them.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Ellie Mitchell.
Derek's daughter.
Tessa was devastated when her attorney explained what the records appeared to show.
The entries described multiple education and athletics grants.
Together, they totaled more than eleven thousand dollars.
But Ellie had received nothing.
The associated payments appeared to lead toward Derek's company and other accounts under review.
I visited Tessa that evening.
She sat at a small kitchen table in temporary housing arranged with help from relatives.
Ellie was in another room, drawing.
“I don't know how to tell her,” Tessa whispered.
“Tell her only what she needs to know, when she's ready,” I said. “And let your attorney help you protect her privacy.”
Tessa looked toward the hallway.
“He's supposed to be her father.”
“I know.”
“She used to worship him.”
My heart ached.
“Children shouldn't have to choose between loving a parent and recognizing that parent has hurt them.”
Tessa wiped her eyes.
“I keep thinking about how much time I wasted.”
I shook my head.
“You've spent years surviving. Now you get to decide what comes next.”
She looked down.
“I don't even know what I want.”
“Then start small.”
“How?”
“What would make tomorrow a little safer?”
She considered that.
“A home where Ellie can sleep without checking the locks.”
I nodded.
“That's a good place to begin.”
That evening, Ryan and I were preparing dinner when someone knocked at our front door.
Through the window, I saw a uniformed process server.
Ryan opened the door.
The man handed me a thick envelope.
“Claire Mitchell?”
“Yes.”
“You've been served.”
My heart sank.
I thanked him and closed the door.
Ryan looked over my shoulder as I opened the papers.
The heading identified a civil lawsuit.
Derek Mitchell was suing me.
He claimed I'd deliberately assaulted him at the barbecue and caused serious physical and emotional injuries.
He sought compensation for medical expenses, lost income, and damages.
The figure at the bottom made Ryan swear under his breath.
Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.
I stared at the number.
After everything Derek had done, he was demanding a quarter of a million dollars from me.
Ryan looked furious.
“He can't be serious.”
I slowly folded the papers.
“He's serious enough to hire an attorney.”
Then I noticed a sentence in the complaint that made my stomach drop.
Derek's attorney had listed an additional allegation.
That I had a history of dangerous conduct during my MMA career.
And attached to the lawsuit was a reference to a fight from ten years earlier.
May you like
A fight I'd spent a decade trying to forget.
Derek wasn't just coming after my money anymore. He was digging into the worst night of my professional life.
