Chapter 6
The drive north took two and a half hours.
Jake drove, Ty in the passenger seat, Clara and me in the back. We didn’t talk much. I stared out the window, watching the city fade into farmland, thinking about the letter, about Jesse, about what Patricia had done to him.
Jesse Cole lived in a small, white clapboard house on the edge of town. A beat-up pickup truck was parked in the driveway, and a little girl with pigtails was chasing a dog around the front yard.
My chest tightened.
He had a kid.
Patricia had abandoned her own son, and now she had a granddaughter she’d never even met.
Jake pulled to the curb a few houses down. “We’ll wait here. If you need us, yell. We’ll be there in two seconds.”
Clara and I got out, walked up the gravel driveway slow. The little girl stopped chasing the dog, stared at us with big, curious eyes.
“Hi,” I said, smiling soft. “Is your dad home?”
She nodded, then turned and ran toward the house, yelling, “Daddy! There’s ladies here to see you!”
A minute later, Jesse came out on the porch.
He was big—broad shoulders, work boots, jeans, a flannel shirt, calloused hands. He had Patricia’s eyes. The same cold, sharp blue. But his face was softer. Kinder. No trace of the cruelty I’d seen in his mother’s face a hundred times.
He crossed his arms over his chest when he saw us. His jaw tightened.
“I told the cops I don’t want nothing to do with her,” he said. His voice was deep, rough, like he spent all day yelling over construction noise. “Whatever she did, I’m not part of it. I haven’t spoken to her in 19 years. I don’t even consider her my mom.”
“I know,” I said, stopping at the bottom of the steps, keeping my hands visible so he wouldn’t feel threatened. “I’m not here about her. Not really. I’m here because she did the same thing to me that she did to you. She used me. She stole from me. She tried to ruin my life. And now she’s trying to get away with it.”
I pulled the letter out of my bag, held it up so he could see it.
“I have this. The letter she wrote you 19 years ago. And I have a whole lot more. Proof she stole almost half a million dollars from me. Proof she and her son beat me. Proof she drugged me to make me seem crazy so she could lock me up and take everything I own. Proof she planned to kill me if that didn’t work.”
Jesse’s arms fell to his sides. His face went pale.
“She tried to kill you?” he said, quiet.
I nodded. “She did. And if I hadn’t fought back, she would have gotten away with it. Just like she got away with leaving you. Just like she’s gotten away with every other terrible thing she’s ever done her whole life.”
I took a step up the porch stairs, slow.
“I need your help, Jesse. I need you to tell the jury what she did to you. How she abandoned you. How she threatened you if you ever told anyone you were her son. Because if they see that this is who she is—that she hurts her own family, her own child, just to get what she wants—they’ll believe every other word we say. She’ll go to prison for the rest of her life. She’ll never hurt anyone ever again.”
Jesse stared at me for a long time. Then his eyes drifted to the letter in my hand, and his face crumpled, just a little.
“I was five,” he said, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. “I woke up one morning, and she was gone. My dad said she left us. Said she didn’t want us anymore. I waited by the window for her to come back for three years. Every single day. I thought I’d done something wrong. That if I was a better kid, she’d come home.”
He stopped, swallowed hard.
“When I was 16, I found her. Tracked her down through old records. Called her. Told her who I was. She laughed. Said I was a liar. Hung up. Then two weeks later, I got a letter in the mail—same as that one. Said if I ever contacted her again, she’d have me arrested for stalking. Said she’d make sure I lost my job, my apartment, everything I’d worked for.”
He looked at me, his eyes wet.
“I spent my whole life hating her. Wishing I could make her pay for what she did. But I never had the money, or the power, or the guts to do anything about it. She’s rich. She’s connected. She can destroy people with one phone call. I’m just a construction worker with a kid to raise. I couldn’t fight her.”
“You don’t have to fight her alone,” I said. “I have the best lawyer in the city. I have the police on my side. I have all the evidence we need. All you have to do is tell the truth. That’s it. Just tell them what she did to you.”
The little girl ran up behind Jesse, wrapped her arms around his leg, and peeked out at me. “Daddy? Who are these ladies?”
Jesse reached down, stroked her hair. “These are friends, baby. Go inside and watch cartoons for a minute, okay? Daddy has to talk.”
The little girl nodded, gave me one last curious look, and ran inside.
Jesse turned back to me, his face set, determined. The same sharp blue eyes as Patricia, but this time, they were on my side.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it. I’ll testify. I’ll tell them everything. Whatever you need. I want that woman to pay for what she did. To me. To you. To everyone she’s ever hurt.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Thank you,” I said. “You have no idea how much this means.”
Clara gave him her card, told him when the trial was, what to expect, how we’d prep him. We stayed for another hour, going over the letter, his story, every detail he could remember.
When we left, the sun was starting to go down.
I climbed into the back of the SUV, leaned my head against the window, and closed my eyes.
We had it all now.
The abuse. The theft. The forgery. The drugging. The guardianship plot. The murder plan. Mia’s testimony. The fake doctor. Jesse’s testimony proving Patricia’s lifetime pattern of cruelty.
There was no way they could win.
But I knew Patricia. I knew how she thought. She was arrogant. She was cruel. And she would never, ever go down without a fight.
She would lie. She would cheat. She would manipulate. She would do whatever it took to walk away free.
And I had to be ready.
May you like
Because the trial was only six weeks away.
And it was going to be the fight of my life.
