Chapter 7 - Behind the Glass
Two armed bailiffs moved smoothly toward the defense table.
""No! Wait! Mom! Mom, do something!"" Garrett shrieked, backing away until the bailiffs caught him by the wrists. The harsh click of metal handcuffs sounded through the courtroom.
My mother surged toward the railing, screaming hysterically. ""Garrett! My baby! Your Honor, please, no! He didn't mean it! He's just a boy!""
""He is thirty-five years old, madam,"" Judge Vance remarked coldly without looking up from his notes. ""Clear the courtroom.""
The bailiffs hauled Garrett through the heavy side door leading to the county lockup, his pathetic cries echoing down the linoleum hallway until the heavy steel door clicked shut. Mom collapsed across the wooden gallery bench, weeping into her lace handkerchief, completely devastated.
Uncle Arthur packed his files back into his briefcase, clicked the brass latches, and turned to me. ""Well, successor administrator. The hard work begins now. We have to freeze every personal account he has before he finds a way to move whatever cash is left.""
Cara gently wheeled me past my mother. As we reached the swinging gate of the bar, Mom reached out, her fingers catching the hem of Cara’s sweater.
""You destroyed this family,"" Mom whispered, her tear-stained face twisted with pure venom. ""You put your own brother in jail. I will never forgive you for this, Reed. Never.""
I looked down at her. For my entire life, that threat—the loss of my mother’s conditional love—had kept me tethered to her dysfunction. It had made me work overtime to pay Garrett’s debts. It had made me swallow insults and accept being the scapegoat. But sitting in that wheelchair, having faced the edge of death just five days earlier while she drank champagne on the ocean, the threat had lost all its power.
""You didn't care if I died in that hospital, Mom,"" I said calmly. ""You gave up your right to be my mother the second you hung up on that surgeon. The only family I have to protect now is sitting right next to me, and the child she’s carrying.""
Cara gently peeled Mom’s fingers off her sweater, and we walked out into the corridor, leaving Evelyn Miller alone on the courthouse bench.
Three days later, Garrett was formally arraigned on two counts of Class B Felony Embezzlement and one count of Grand Larceny. Because of the clear flight risk—and the fact that he had bragged about having offshore digital wallets—the magistrate set his bail at $250,000 cash.
He couldn't pay it. And this time, Mom couldn't save him.
When Dad found out the full extent of the fraud—including the fact that Mom had secretly known about Garrett's crypto trading since June—he packed two suitcases, moved out of their family home, and filed for legal separation.
On Thursday afternoon, I returned to the county jail at the request of Garrett’s public defender. I sat on a plastic stool on the visitor's side of the thick acrylic glass.
Garrett was brought in wearing an orange prison jumpsuit. His hair was shaved, his face gaunt, and his right eye was bruised from a scuffle in the holding pen. He picked up the telephone receiver with trembling hands.
I picked up mine.
""Reed,"" he whimpered, pressing his forehead against the scratched glass. ""Please. Talk to the prosecutor. They're talking about eight to twelve years in state prison. Reed, Delaney's sixth birthday is next month. I can't be in here. Tell them it was a misunderstanding. I’ll sign over the boat. I’ll sign over my car. I’ll give you everything.""
""You don't have anything to give, Garrett,"" I answered evenly. ""The state has already frozen your accounts, and the marina has repossessed the boat for non-payment of docking fees. Everything you bought with Grandma's money is being seized by the receiver.""
""Then why did you come here?"" Garrett sobbed. ""Just to gloat? Just to see me like this?""
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""No,"" I said. ""I came here to deliver one message. You spent your whole life believing that Mom’s love was a shield that made you untouchable. But real life doesn't have golden boys, Garrett. It just has choices, and the consequences you have to pay for them.""
I hung up the phone, stood up on my own two feet—shaky, but without the wheelchair—and walked out into the sunlight.
