Chapter 15 - My Mother Took the Stand
The hearing was scheduled for January.
Not a criminal trial.
Not the dramatic courtroom showdown people imagined after watching too much television.
Audrey filed for temporary relief preventing Northlight from using Evan’s identity, my children’s stories, or any materials derived from the fraudulent project while the broader dispute was reviewed.
Northlight fought it.
Their attorneys argued that they had invested money based on documents provided by Cliff and that much of the material had become part of a “public charitable narrative.”
I hated that phrase.
A public charitable narrative.
As though enough people seeing my pain transformed it into public property.
Mom received a subpoena.
She called me the night before the hearing.
“I’m frightened.”
I was folding laundry.
Nico had somehow worn six pairs of socks in four days.
“I imagine you are.”
“What if I say something wrong?”
“Tell the truth.”
“You make that sound easy.”
“It gets easier when you stop preparing alternatives.”
She was quiet.
I immediately regretted the cruelty.
Then I decided regret did not make the statement false.
“I don’t know if I can look at you in there,” she said.
“You don’t have to.”
“Will the boys know?”
“No. They’re going to school.”
“Good.”
That surprised me.
A year earlier, Mom would have complained that I was hiding things from them.
Now she simply said, “Good.”
The courtroom was smaller than I expected.
Nolan Price sat behind his attorneys.
He wore a navy suit and looked exactly like his website photographs.
Confident.
Concerned.
Professional.
Bryn sat across the aisle with her attorney.
Cliff did not attend. His lawyer represented his interests in the related document dispute.
Dad sat beside me.
When Mom entered, every muscle in his body tightened.
They had not been in the same room for months.
She looked toward him.
He nodded once.
Nothing more.
When Mom testified, Audrey’s questions were simple.
Had she created fundraising materials using Evan’s name?
Yes.
Had I authorized her?
No.
Had she supplied records and photographs to Bryn and Cliff?
Yes.
Had she signed a declaration suggesting she represented the Pike family’s interests?
Yes.
Did she have authority to do that?
“No.”
Her voice shook.
Northlight’s attorney stood.
He was polite.
That made him more dangerous.
“Mrs. Halloway, did you believe the charitable project reflected your late son-in-law’s values?”
“Yes.”
“Did you believe your daughter supported helping bereaved children?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever tell you she opposed charitable work in her husband’s memory?”
Audrey objected.
The judge allowed a limited answer.
Mom looked at me.
Then at the attorney.
“She didn’t know there was a project.”
He changed direction.
“You believed you were acting in the family’s interests.”
Mom’s hands tightened.
“For a long time, yes.”
“And you represented that belief to Mr. Pike?”
“Yes.”
“So Northlight reasonably relied on representations from your family.”
Mom looked suddenly still.
“No.”
The attorney paused.
“No?”
“I was not authorized.”
“Mrs. Halloway—”
“I lied.”
The courtroom became silent.
Mom’s voice trembled, but she continued.
“I told people Laurel had approved things she had not approved. I told my husband she wanted distance when she had not said that. I gave Bryn documents because I wanted the project to continue.”
The attorney frowned.
“Your personal guilt is not the issue.”
“No.”
Mom looked at me.
“But her permission is.”
My throat tightened.
For once, she had not made herself the center of the story.
She had simply told the truth.
The judge issued a temporary order later that afternoon.
Northlight could not use Evan’s name, recognizable image, personal biography, my children’s photographs, or representations suggesting our family endorsed the campaign.
The larger claims would continue.
Outside the courthouse, reporters waited.
Nolan Price stopped near the stairs.
“We’re disappointed,” he said to a camera. “But our mission continues.”
I walked past without speaking.
Mom stood alone near the parking lot.
Dad had already left.
I approached her.
She looked exhausted.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I know.”
“Did I help?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
I did not hug her.
She did not ask.
That mattered.
As I turned away, she said, “Laurel?”
I looked back.
“I should have said it sooner.”
“What?”
“That I lied.”
I nodded.
May you like
“Yes.”
Then I went home to my children.
