Chapter 19 - THE THING THAT BROKE DAD

"Leaving her?"

Dad nodded.

I looked at the cashier's check between us.

"Because of this?"

"No. Because of all of it. Because I keep waiting for the next version where we somehow become decent again without admitting what we did."

He rubbed his eyes.

"And because she told me last night that if the police charge her, it'll be your fault."

I looked away.

That should not have hurt anymore.

It did.

"Where will you go?"

"Mike has a spare room."

Uncle Mike lived in Pueblo and collected broken motorcycles like other people collected stamps.

The image of my father sleeping beside a stack of carburetors was so pathetic I nearly smiled.

"Mom knows?"

"She will when I get home."

"Dad -"

He held up a hand.

"Don't manage this."

I stopped.

He gave me a tired little smile.

"I'm trying to learn your trick."

"What trick?"

"Letting people have their own consequences."

I almost told him I was not very good at it.

Instead I pushed the cashier's check back again.

"Use that for the house."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because some of the money that kept our house standing came from you without your knowledge. I'm not doing that again, even backwards."

That sentence stayed with me.

We left the diner separately.

Three hours later, Mom called.

I knew Dad had told her before I answered.

She was crying so hard I could barely understand her.

"He's leaving me."

I sat on the edge of my bed.

"I know."

"You knew?"

"He told me."

Her crying stopped.

Just stopped.

"Of course he did."

"Mom -"

"You got what you wanted."

I closed my eyes.

"I did not want this."

"You wanted consequences. Congratulations."

I said nothing.

She laughed, breathless and bitter.

"The bank froze the business accounts. Robert is leaving. Britney won't come home. The police have called me twice. Are you happy now?"

The same question as the living room.

This time I answered.

"No."

She went quiet.

"I'm not happy. I'm also not fixing it."

"You could stop this."

"No."

"You could tell them we had permission."

"We didn't."

"You said yes in 2018!"

"To organizing paperwork. Not to fake pay stubs, altered powers of attorney, credit cards, loans, or forged checks."

"You always need to be technically right."

I laughed once.

"No, Mom. I just need my signature to mean I signed something."

She hung up.

The next morning, Captain Morales called me into her office.

There was another officer inside from security.

Morales closed the door.

"Erin, an anonymous complaint was filed alleging you failed to disclose ownership in a private business and concealed financial liabilities."

I stared at her.

Morales's jaw tightened.

"Someone sent documents."

I knew before she showed me the email address.

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