Chapter 3 - THE COLLUSIONZ
The walk from the police precinct to Taryn’s car was a blurred blur of gray pavement and blinding sunlight. Grandpa walked beside me, his cane clicking heavily against the concrete with every step. The silence between us felt like a physical weight, thick with the unbearable truth that had just been stripped bare in that sterile police room.
Denise—my mother—wasn't just a victim of Cole’s manipulation. She was his accomplice.
When we reached Taryn’s car, Grandpa didn't get in immediately. He rested both hands on the top of his cane, staring out at the busy city traffic, his lower lip trembling slightly.
“Maren,” he said, his voice raspy and fragile. “When your grandmother died fifteen years ago, I promised myself I would keep this family together at any cost. I thought if I gave Cole enough chances, he would find his way. I thought if I gave your mother enough support, she would find her strength.” He slowly turned his head to look at me, tears glistening in the deep creases around his eyes. “I was blind. I let them poison you.”
“Grandpa, you didn't know,” I murmured, reaching out to touch his coat sleeve.
“I should have known!” he snapped, a rare flash of fire bursting through his grief. “A man my age shouldn't be so cowardly as to ignore the smell of smoke until his home burns to the ground. Your mother... how could she do that to her own daughter? How could she sit across from you at dinner, knowing Cole was signing your name to debts that would crush you?”
We drove to Taryn’s office in stony silence. Taryn immediately called a emergency meeting with her Senior Partner, a formidable white-haired litigator named Richard Vance (no relation, thankfully). We sat in the boardroom as Richard reviewed the financial records Detective Ortiz had forwarded.
“This changes the legal landscape dramatically,” Richard said, tapping a golden pen against the mahogany table. “Previously, Denise Vance was viewed by law enforcement as an emotionally manipulated parent who gave away her own funds. Now, with IP address tracking placing fraudulent credit applications at her residence and phone logs matching her landline, she is a co-conspirator to identity theft and mail fraud.”
“Will they arrest her?” I asked, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to remain detached.
“If the District Attorney chooses to indict her, yes,” Richard replied without hesitation. “The DA’s office takes multi-jurisdictional identity fraud very seriously, especially when it involves elder abuse—which is precisely what Cole’s actions against your grandfather constitute.”
“I won’t protect her,” Grandpa said firmly, leaning forward. “If Denise stood by and let Cole steal Maren’s future, she must face the judge just as he will. I will not give her a dime for a defense lawyer. I will not sign any bail documents.”
Taryn turned to me. “Maren, you need to prepare yourself. When the DA realizes Denise is involved, Cole’s defense attorney is going to use it. They will try to claim that this was a ‘family financial arrangement’ gone wrong, rather than a criminal conspiracy. They will try to paint you as the bitter outcast daughter seeking revenge against a loving family.”
“Let them try,” I whispered, gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles turned white. “I have the paper trail. I have the forged documents. I have Cole admitting on a recorded line that he used my name because my credit was clean.”
That evening, I returned to my apartment with a private security guard Taryn had insisted on hiring to sit outside my door. The apartment felt different—colder, sharper, every shadow looming like a potential threat. I poured myself a glass of water and walked over to my desk, opening my laptop.
My inbox was flooded. Relatives I hadn't spoken to in years—aunts, uncles, second cousins from Ohio—had sent dozens of emails. Some were aggressive, demanding I drop the charges to “save the family name.” Others were passive-aggressive, suggesting that Cole had “mental health issues” that required treatment, not jail time.
Then, an email arrived from an unfamiliar address: [email protected].
It was from Mom.
Maren, the email read. I know you are talking to lawyers. I know what the detective told you today. You have to listen to me before you do something you can never take back. Cole owes money to an investment group in Chicago. Real money, Maren. Over $150,000. They threatened him. They threatened to come to my house. He came to me terrified six months ago, crying, saying they would hurt him if he didn't pay them back.
I panicked. I didn't want my boy to die. I let him use my computer. I helped him answer those security questions on the phone because he said you had agreed to help! He swore to me that you knew about it! He said you offered your credit profile as a guarantor until his business deal went through! I believed him because he is my son!
If you go through with these charges, they will indict me too. Do you want your own mother to go to prison? Is your pride really worth destroying what is left of our family? Please, Maren. Call Detective Ortiz. Tell him it was a misunderstanding. Tell him we resolved it internally. If you don't, you are murdering this family.
I read the email once. I read it twice.
The sheer audacity of it—the total absence of an apology to me, the victim of her deceit; the desperate blame-shifting onto hypothetical thugs in Chicago; the emotional blackmail accusing me of "murdering" the family—sent a wave of freezing clarity straight through my heart.
She hadn't helped Cole to save him. She had helped him because she was addicted to being his savior, even if it meant sacrificing me as collateral damage.
I didn't reply to the email. Instead, I printed three copies, placed them into a manila folder, and called Taryn.
“I have more evidence for Detective Ortiz,” I said into the phone. “Mom just sent me an email admitting that she helped Cole complete the fraudulent verification calls.”
On the other end of the line, Taryn let out a long, slow breath. “Maren... you realize what this means, right? Once I forward this to Ortiz, the DA will issue an arrest warrant for your mother by tomorrow morning.”
May you like
I looked out the window, looking at the city skyline stretching into the night. The girl who used to sign papers blindly without reading them was gone.
“Send it, Taryn,” I said clearly. “Issue the warrant.”
