Page 76 of Off the Grid
They might actually come true.
Even after facing mobsters and being kidnapped and getting lost in the woods, breaking down her walls still seemed like the most terrifying prospect of all. She felt too safe inside of them. Her loneliness had become a crutch she was too afraid to let go.
The phone rang.
Saved by the bell.McKenzie smiled with relief at the easy out and answered the call. “Hey, Mom.”
“Your father’s lawyer just called. He wants to have a meeting with us as soon as possible. Can you come out to the house tomorrow morning?”
McKenzie rolled her eyes. There were no pleasantries, just straight to the point. But in a way, she also appreciated it. “Is this about what happened to me? I thought you didn’t say anything to Dad.”
“I didn’t,” her mother quipped. Even though she’d only referred to him asyour fatherfor the past decade, McKenzie knew her mother still loved him. Why else had she stayed married to him? Why else did she speak to him on the phone at least once a week? Why else did she still pay for lawyers when the past two appeals hadn’t even made it to court? Deep down, despite the embarrassment and the shame, her mother still had faith in her father, same as McKenzie. They were both praying for the day he got out, so he could come put their family back together. “I’m not sure what this is about. Your father and the lawyer have been meeting without my knowledge because your father didn’t want to get our hopes up, but apparently, they think they’ve found some sort of new evidence that might bring the case back to trial.”
McKenzie perked up on the couch, a fire sparking to life in her chest. “Really?”
“Something to do with new handwriting analysis something or other. It’s the same theory they used before, but they think they have proof of the forgeries this time instead of just theories, enough to make a motion for a new trial.”
“How?” Her heart thudded, a deep, booming pounding against her ribs. “After so much time?”
“I don’t know, McKenzie,” her mother said in a tired voice. “That’s why the lawyer asked to meet with us tomorrow—to explain.”
Right.“I’ll be there.”
“Does 10 a.m. work for you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want a car?”
She rolled her eyes. “Public transport isn’t the devil, you know.”
Silence was her only answer—well, that, and the vision of the sneer she knew must’ve been written across her mother’s face.
“Mom?”
“Let me send a car.”
“I’ll catch a train, don’t worry.”
“Just let me send the car.”
“Mom—”
“Don’t be so stubborn, McKenzie. I’m trying to do something nice.”
“Thanks, Mom. Really. But—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I just spent the better part of a week wondering if you were alive. I don’t need any more stress in my life. Do you know the kind of people who use public transport? No. Well, I do. And I’m sending a car—that’s final.”
She’s worried, McKenzie realized, biting her tongue. It wasn’t about appearances or wealth or society—her mother was worried. Maybe she always had been, and she’d just never known how to show it. “Okay, Mom. I’ll take the car.”
She left it at that, figuring that now really wasn’t the time to politely inform her mother that something like eighty percent of commuters in New York City used public transport, and that it was a perfectly acceptable—neigh, preferable—way to travel. Or that she—gasp!—used the subway multiple times per day, sometimes even the bus. That was a battle for another time.
They said goodbye and McKenzie gently placed her phone on the table. Ignoring her friends and ignoring that damn business card, she stood up and walked to her bedroom, then reached deep beneath her mattress for the shoebox stuffed all the way in the back corner. It had been years since she’d looked inside, but the conversation with her mom stirred up old hopes, as well as old fears. She pulled out the first newspaper clipping—Connecticut Hedge Fund Manager Arrested for Fraud Staunchly Denies Accusations.She reached for another—Jury Finds Charles Harper Guilty on All Charges.
Her mother had never let her go to the courtroom—she said it was no place for a little girl. Oh, they’d had a good old-fashioned screaming battle about that, but her mother had won, as she usually did. McKenzie had sat at her window every day, watching as her mother’s car pulled down the driveway and disappeared. Then she’d waited for it to return so she could pester her with incessant questions that went unanswered more often than not. The newspaper and the internet had been her prime sources of information, but she’d been too young to understand half of what she’d read. By the time she was old enough to grasp the intricacies of the case, she’d stopped wanting to. Her father was in jail, so what did it matter? At least that was what she told herself. The truth was she’d been too afraid. What if her father was lying? What if reading all the facts just convinced her of his guilt? What then? She didn’t want to know. Ignorance was better, a twisted sort of bliss. So she’d boxed up all the articles and saved them for another time—a time which had, apparently, finally come.
McKenzie carefully unfolded and scanned the newspaper clipping. The prosecutor had presented a ton of evidence, most of which required a knowledge of the financial markets to understand, but the reporter believed the conviction had come down to one thing—signatures. Her father alleged his business partner had orchestrated the embezzlement without his knowledge. His business partner alleged the same thing. In the end, it had come down to whose name was on the papers—and that name had been her father’s. His partner had gotten off scot free, while her father was sent to jail. She didn’t need the article to remember the man’s name.
