Chapter 6 - The Vance Family Mobilizes
By two o'clock on Sunday afternoon, the living room of Arthur and Evelyn Vance’s home in Newton was filled with the smell of brewing coffee and baking pastry.
Arthur and Evelyn were Natalie’s parents. Arthur was a retired diesel mechanic, sixty-eight years old, with broad shoulders, silver hair, and hands that looked like weathered oak. Evelyn was a former elementary school librarian who still wore reading glasses on a chain around her neck. For the past year, Renee had systematically limited their contact with Elsie, inventing scheduling conflicts, illnesses, and family obligations to keep the maternal grandparents at arm's length.
When I carried Elsie through their front door, Evelyn dropped her dish towel and wrapped her arms around both of us, weeping quietly against my shoulder.
“We saw the video on Instagram, Tom,” Evelyn said, her voice shaking with controlled fury once the children had been sent out to the backyard to look at Arthur’s woodworking shop. “Arthur wanted to drive down to Maple Street last night with a crowbar.”
“I’d have used it, too,” Arthur said from the kitchen doorway, his voice low and gravelly. “Walter was a good man, Tom. A decent man. But that woman he brought into his house in his twilight years... she’s a viper. We kept our mouths shut because we didn't want to cause friction while you were grieving Natalie, but this? Starving an eight-year-old child of dignity while flaunting an arcade party for her own boy? It’s sickening.”
“It’s worse than that,” I said, laying David’s bank printouts on the dining room table alongside Walter’s will.
Arthur put on his glasses and leaned over the documents with David, who had driven up from the bank to join us. For twenty minutes, the only sound in the house was the rustle of paper and Arthur’s breathing turning shallower and harsher.
“Fourteen thousand out of the principal education trust,” David stated, tapping his index finger on the summary sheet. “Plus unauthorized debit transactions totaling nearly six thousand over the summer months. She’s been running an embezzlement scheme under the guise of 'household management.'”
“Can we press charges?” Arthur asked, looking up, his eyes hard as flint.
“We can file a report for grand larceny and breach of fiduciary trust tomorrow morning,” David said. “The paperwork Walter filed when he created the trust requires dual authorization for any non-maintenance disbursement exceeding five hundred dollars. She forged Walter’s signature on the electronic authorization portal using his old saved passwords.”
I sat back in my chair, staring at the grain of the oak table. “I don't want Jonah to see his mother dragged out of the house in handcuffs if we can avoid it. That boy has been through enough trauma. But she is leaving that house. Today.”
Just then, my phone chimed on the table. It was an email notification from the local school district.
It was a message from Ms. Porter, Elsie’s third-grade teacher.
*Dear Mr. Becker,*
*I am writing to check in on Elsie. On Friday afternoon, she returned the purple countdown chain link to my desk and told me she wouldn't be needing the class party favors because she 'wasn't good enough this year to have a party.' Several parents have reached out to me asking why the invitations Elsie handed out two weeks ago were abruptly canceled by Mrs. Renee Becker via a mass group text on Wednesday evening. Mrs. Becker informed the parents that the family was having an intimate, private memorial service for Elsie’s mother instead. Given Elsie’s distress on Friday, I felt compelled to reach out directly to you. Please let me know how we can support Elsie at school tomorrow.*
I read the email aloud to the room.
When I finished, Evelyn Vance stood up, walked over to the kitchen counter, and picked up her car keys.
“Evelyn, where are you going?” Arthur asked.
“I am going to Maple Street to pack my granddaughter’s clothes, her mother’s heirlooms, and Walter’s silver,” Evelyn said, her voice calm with the terrifying stillness of an enraged grandmother. “And if that woman so much as breathes in my direction, God help her, because the police won't get there in time to save her.”
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“Wait,” I said, standing up. “We do this together. All of us. And we do it by the book.”
***
