Chapter 5 - The Council of Vultures
While Amy and I were finally beginning to breathe easy in our reclaimed home, a very different scene was unfolding in the bleak, fluorescent-lit visiting area of the Davidson County Detention Center.
Teresa Bradley sat behind the thick plexiglass partition, wearing a standard-issue orange jumpsuit that clashed violently with her dyed blonde hair and heavy makeup. Her face was twisted into an expression of pure, venomous hatred as she gripped the heavy plastic telephone receiver.
Sitting across from her in the visitor's booth was Aunt Rebecca, looking equally miserable, clutching a greasy paper cup of vending machine coffee.
"What do you mean, bail was denied?!" Teresa snarled into the receiver, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Get my corporate lawyer on the phone! Tell him to file a writ of habeas corpus! I am a pillar of this community!"
"Teresa, shut up and listen to me!" Rebecca hissed back, pressing her own phone tight against her ear. "The lawyers won't even take our calls! Your accounts are frozen! The condo in Boca was seized by the federal marshals this morning! We don't have any money left to pay retainer fees!"
Teresa’s breath hitched. For the first time, true panic flickered behind her hard, calculating eyes.
"No... no, that's impossible," she stammered, shaking her head frantically. "Connor doesn't have the spine to do that. He’s my son! He’s weak! He’ll cave the second I give him the silent treatment, just like he did when he was a boy!"
"He’s not weak anymore, Teresa," Rebecca said bitterly, her voice dripping with resentment. "He brought the police, he brought federal investigators, and he cut us all off completely. Mason got fired from his fake job, my husband is threatening to divorce me because our joint accounts got dragged into your mess, and you are sitting in a jail cell facing ten years for grand larceny."
Teresa slammed her fist against the plexiglass partition. A guard stepped forward immediately, tapping his baton against his belt and glaring warningly through the window.
Teresa pulled her hand back, her chest heaving, her eyes wild with fury.
"He's my son," she whispered, her voice trembling with venomous spite. "I gave him life. I built his career. I made him everything he is. And he chose that... that woman over me."
"You lost, Teresa," Rebecca said coldly, standing up and sliding her plastic cup into the trash can. "And you dragged the rest of us down with you."
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"I am not done," Teresa hissed into the receiver as Rebecca turned toward the exit. "Do you hear me?! I am not done!"
Rebecca didn't look back. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind her, leaving my mother alone in the gray, echoing room with her own bitter reflections.
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