Chapter 7 - The Price of Custody
Mitchell began building a paper version of a perfect home.
The real home looked nothing like it.
On paper, Aubrey and Dylan received:
Private tutoring.
Trauma therapy.
Supervised recreational activities.
Nutritional planning.
Residential adjustment services.
At the house, they received:
Rules.
Locked doors.
Threats.
And instructions not to speak to strangers without Mitchell present.
Daniel Keene arrived twice a week.
Aubrey listened from the kitchen.
“The first reimbursement request goes Monday,” Daniel said.
“Total?”
“One hundred fourteen thousand.”
Mitchell nodded.
“Too low.”
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
“Mitchell, the bank is already asking questions.”
“Then give them answers.”
“You’ve been guardian for less than three weeks.”
“So?”
“That amount will trigger review.”
Mitchell lowered his voice.
“I didn’t go through this entire custody fight to wait eighteen years.”
Aubrey stopped breathing.
Daniel glanced toward the kitchen.
Mitchell followed his gaze.
“Aubrey!”
She entered.
“Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“Washing cups.”
His eyes stayed on her.
“Go upstairs.”
She obeyed.
But the sentence stayed with her.
I didn’t go through this entire custody fight to wait eighteen years.
Mitchell had never come to Ronald’s house to save them.
He came because the custody order made him useful to the trust.
Upstairs, Dylan was sitting on the floor of their bedroom.
Mitchell had allowed him out for the afternoon.
Aubrey whispered:
“He wants our money.”
Dylan frowned.
“Ronald wanted money too.”
“I know.”
“Why do grown-ups need ours?”
“It belongs to us.”
“We can give it to them.”
“No.”
Aubrey said it harder than she intended.
Dylan flinched.
She softened.
“Mom left it for us.”
“What are we supposed to buy?”
“I don’t know.”
He considered this.
“A dog?”
Despite everything, Aubrey laughed.
“Maybe.”
Dylan smiled.
Then looked toward the hallway.
“Can money buy a new dad?”
The laugh died.
“No.”
“Good.”
Aubrey took the brass key from her sock.
Dylan’s eyes widened.
“What’s that?”
“Mom left it.”
“Where?”
“The blue bird drawer.”
She told him about Claire’s note.
Rachel knows the bank.
Trust her before either man.
Dylan stared.
“Mom knew?”
“I think so.”
“That Dad was bad?”
Aubrey nodded.
“And Ronald?”
“Yes.”
Dylan looked confused.
“Then why did she leave us with Ronald?”
The question hurt.
Claire had died suddenly from a brain aneurysm eighteen months after marrying Ronald.
She could not have known exactly what would happen afterward.
“She probably thought she had more time.”
Aubrey hated the sentence.
Adults always thought they had more time.
That night she needed a way to contact Rachel.
Mitchell had taken their phones.
There was an old tablet in the hallway study, but it required a password.
Dylan knew it.
He had watched Mitchell enter the digits.
“1987.”
“How do you know?”
“He uses it for the door alarm too.”
Aubrey stared.
“You sure?”
Dylan nodded proudly.
“He doesn’t think I look.”
For the first time, Dylan had information that could protect them.
Aubrey hugged him.
“You’re amazing.”
“I know.”
After midnight, they waited.
Mitchell’s bedroom door closed.
Television stopped.
No footsteps.
Aubrey slipped into the hallway.
The side door was locked, but Dylan was not inside tonight.
They crept downstairs.
The study door opened.
Tablet.
Unlocked.
Aubrey searched for Rachel’s email.
She knew only part of it.
RachelM…
The tablet had Mitchell’s contacts synchronized.
Rachel Monroe appeared.
Aubrey opened a blank email.
Her fingers shook.
She could not write everything.
If Mitchell found the message, he would know.
She typed:
Aunt Rachel, Mom’s blue bird was real. I have the key. Please don’t call Dad. Dylan is okay right now. The door across from my room is not storage.
Aubrey stared at the screen.
Then added:
He wants the notebook.
She hit send.
Dylan whispered:
“Delete it.”
Aubrey deleted the sent copy.
They hurried upstairs.
Neither noticed the small notification on Mitchell’s laptop in the next room.
New sign-in activity detected.
At 6:12 the next morning, Mitchell opened his computer.
He stared at the alert.
Then slowly looked toward the staircase.
At breakfast, he behaved normally.
Too normally.
He buttered toast.
Poured coffee.
Asked Dylan if he slept well.
Then he looked at Aubrey.
“What did you do last night?”
Her hand stopped halfway to her glass.
“Nothing.”
Mitchell smiled.
“Wrong answer.”
He placed the tablet on the table.
Aubrey’s stomach dropped.
The deleted email was gone.
But the sign-in history remained.
Mitchell leaned back.
“Try again.”
Aubrey said nothing.
Mitchell stood.
He took Dylan by the shoulder.
Aubrey jumped up.
“No.”
Mitchell looked at her.
“You know what happens when you lie.”
Dylan began crying.
Mitchell walked him toward the stairs.
Aubrey followed.
“Leave him alone!”
Mitchell opened the locked side door.
Dylan turned toward Aubrey.
“Aubrey!”
She ran forward.
Mitchell blocked her.
Then closed Dylan inside.
The lock clicked.
Mitchell turned.
His voice was almost gentle.
“Now.”
May you like
He looked directly into Aubrey’s eyes.
“Tell me what you sent.”
