Chapter 27 - My Parents Face the Judge
My father pled guilty before trial.
My mother did not.
That surprised no one.
Richard admitted to conspiracy, trust fraud, and participation in Gavin’s scheme.
His attorney argued age, remorse, cooperation, and lack of prior criminal history.
The prosecution argued ten years of deliberate deception.
Both were true.
At sentencing, Dad asked to speak.
He looked directly at me.
“Hannah.”
The judge interrupted.
“Mr. Brooks, address the court.”
Dad nodded.
“Your Honor, I spent years telling myself I was helping my son.”
His voice shook.
“I called theft help. I called lying protection. I called favoritism family duty.”
I didn’t move.
“I hurt my daughter because she was responsible enough to survive it.”
That sentence landed hard.
Because it was true.
Derek needed rescuing.
I didn’t.
So they used my strength as permission to neglect me.
Dad continued.
“I believed Hannah would always be okay.”
He looked down.
“She was okay despite me, not because of me.”
Aunt Lorraine squeezed my hand.
Dad received thirty months in federal custody.
My mother whispered, “Monster,” when the sentence was announced.
I didn’t know whether she meant the judge, me, or Dad.
Her own trial began six weeks later.
Evelyn rejected multiple plea offers.
She insisted she had been manipulated by Richard.
Then Derek testified.
That ended everything.
My brother entered the courtroom wearing prison-issued clothing.
Mom stared at him with desperate hope.
Her golden boy.
Surely he would save her.
The prosecutor asked:
“Did your mother know Hannah had not authorized the original trust transfers?”
“Yes.”
Mom shook her head.
“No.”
The judge warned her.
Derek continued.
“Mom said Hannah was young and didn’t need the money.”
My mother began crying.
The prosecutor asked:
“Did your mother encourage you to use Hannah’s vehicle without permission?”
“Yes.”
“Did she give you Hannah’s spare key?”
“Yes.”
“Did she later participate in conversations about pressuring Hannah to pay Gavin Mercer?”
“Yes.”
Mom suddenly stood.
“You liar!”
The judge slammed the gavel.
“Sit down!”
Derek looked at her.
No anger.
Just sadness.
Mom sat.
Then came the recording.
Her voice filled the courtroom.
Maybe we tell people she’s unstable.
Another recording.
She works around medication. People will believe anything if you say addiction.
Then bank footage showed her attempting to transfer the royalty money.
Her defense collapsed.
The jury deliberated four hours.
Guilty on multiple counts.
At sentencing, Mom finally addressed me directly despite the judge’s instruction.
“You got what you wanted.”
I almost answered.
Then realized I didn’t need to.
The judge did.
“Mrs. Brooks, your daughter did not create this evidence.”
Mom turned toward the bench.
“She turned my family against me.”
“No.”
The judge removed his glasses.
“Your family members testified about your conduct.”
Mom looked stunned.
The judge continued.
“You appear to believe accountability is something another person does to you. It is not.”
My mother’s face crumpled.
She received twenty-two months.
Less than Dad.
More than she expected.
As marshals prepared to escort her away, she looked at me.
For a moment, I saw something almost human beneath the anger.
Fear.
Age.
Regret.
“Hannah.”
I stepped closer.
Not too close.
She whispered:
“Was I really that terrible?”
There were a thousand answers.
Yes.
You ruined years of my life.
You stole from me.
You lied.
You chose Derek.
Instead, I said:
“You made choices that hurt me.”
She started crying.
“Do you hate me?”
I thought carefully.
“No.”
Her eyes widened.
“I don’t want to hate you anymore.”
Hope appeared on her face.
Then I finished.
“But that doesn’t mean you get access to me.”
The hope disappeared.
I didn’t enjoy that.
But boundaries weren’t supposed to punish.
They were supposed to protect.
Mom was led away.
Outside the courthouse, Lorraine asked:
“You mean it?”
“What?”
“That you don’t hate her?”
I breathed in the cold Pittsburgh air.
“I think hate is too much work.”
Lorraine smiled.
“Good.”
We walked toward my silver crossover.
The NEW PATH plate caught the afternoon light.
I ran one hand across the hood.
Once, this car had been the thing they stole.
May you like
Now it was just a car.
That felt like healing.
