Dylan learned the truth at five-twenty that evening.
Pierce called after Dylan clocked out.
Robert was still in Helen’s kitchen, so both parents listened through the speaker when Dylan called them afterward.
“They picked me.”
His voice sounded hollow.
Helen sat.
“It appears Wallace identified the house first.”
“And then found me.”
“Yes.”
Dylan laughed once.
“So I’m an idiot.”
Helen closed her eyes.
“Don’t.”
“What else do you call somebody who gets studied for months and never notices?”
“Human.”
Dylan became silent.
Robert leaned toward the phone.
“People who manipulate others professionally are good at it.”
“Dad, I gave them everything.”
“You gave them opportunities.”
“I gave them Mom.”
Helen felt the sentence.
“No.”
Dylan continued.
“They wanted the house and found me because I was easy.”
“Stop.”
This time Helen’s voice was firm.
“You are doing exactly what I warned you about.”
“What?”
“Turning shame into another way to avoid precision.”
Dylan breathed hard.
“They targeted you.”
“Yes.”
“You made choices.”
“Yes.”
“Both are true.”
“I know.”
“Then stop calling yourself an idiot as though one insult explains three years.”
Silence.
Robert looked at Helen.
She continued.
“Were you manipulated?”
“Yes.”
“Did you steal from me?”
“Yes.”
“Did Wallace make you hit me?”
Dylan’s voice dropped.
“No.”
“Good.”
He exhaled.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I keep wanting one explanation.”
“That is what got us here.”
Dylan said nothing.
Helen heard a door open on his end.
A man’s voice asked, “You planning to live in my parking lot?”
Dylan covered the phone badly.
“Miguel.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“My mom.”
“Tell her you’re done for the day and get out of here.”
Helen smiled.
Dylan said, “He says—”
“I heard him.”
Miguel’s voice came closer.
“That Helen?”
“Yes.”
“Put me on.”
Dylan protested.
Miguel ignored him.
“Mrs. Parker?”
“Helen is fine.”
“Your son works too slowly.”
Dylan groaned.
Helen smiled.
“Then don’t pay him quickly.”
Miguel laughed.
“I like you.”
Dylan muttered something.
Miguel continued.
“He also stayed when I gave him three chances to complain.”
Helen’s smile faded into something warmer.
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“He tell you what’s happening?”
“Enough.”
Helen became cautious.
“Miguel—”
“I don’t need details.”
His voice became serious.
“Robert told me the kid needs work, not rescue.”
Helen looked at Robert.
Miguel continued.
“That’s what I have.”
“Good.”
“Tomorrow six-forty-five.”
Dylan protested, “You said seven.”
“I changed my mind.”
Helen laughed.
Miguel returned the phone.
Dylan said, “Everybody in my life is becoming terrible.”
“Sounds healthy.”
“Mom.”
She smiled.
Then his voice changed.
“I don’t think I can do this.”
The words were quiet enough that Robert almost missed them.
Helen did not.
“Do what?”
“All of it.”
“Be specific.”
“Work. Court. Therapy. Paying you back. Dad’s rules. Knowing what Wallace did.”
He swallowed.
“I want to disappear.”
Helen’s body tightened.
“Disappear how?”
Dylan immediately understood the concern.
“Not hurt myself.”
Helen exhaled.
“I mean run.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then it isn’t a plan.”
“No.”
“It’s a feeling.”
“Yes.”
Helen leaned back.
“Feel it.”
Dylan was silent.
“Then go home with your father.”
“That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“A speech.”
“I’m tired.”
Dylan laughed unexpectedly.
Helen continued.
“Running is familiar. Staying is new.”
His breathing steadied.
“So stay tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Tomorrow you can stay again.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t promise me a year.”
“I won’t.”
After the call, Robert remained quiet.
“What?” Helen asked.
“I used to give speeches.”
“Yes.”
“They were terrible.”
“Very.”
He laughed.
“I thought if I found exactly the right words, Dylan would suddenly understand.”
“So did I.”
Robert looked toward the staircase.
“The difference was I eventually stopped trying.”
“And I never did.”
They sat with that.
Neither needed to win.
The next morning Dylan arrived at Miguel’s shop at six-thirty-eight.
Helen knew because he sent a photograph of the time clock.
She replied:
Show-off.
At nine, he attended his first therapy session by video from Miguel’s office.
Miguel had agreed to let him take an extended break as long as he returned for the afternoon.
Dylan did.
At lunch he called Helen.
“How was therapy?”
“Awful.”
“Good.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“What did you talk about?”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to report therapy to my mother.”
Helen paused.
Then smiled.
“You’re right.”
Dylan sounded surprised.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
“Don’t abuse the privilege.”
He laughed.
Then said, “I told her I hit you.”
Helen became still.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“I know.”
He paused.
“I just wanted you to know I didn’t hide it.”
Helen swallowed.
“Thank you.”
That afternoon Detective Cho visited Helen with updated financial records.
The fraudulent lien had been tied to a series of shell companies.
Four victims had already come forward.
Two more were being contacted.
Helen recognized one name.
“Marjorie Ellis.”
“You know her?”
“She taught Dylan in middle school.”
Cho checked the file.
“Her grandson had gambling debt.”
Helen closed her eyes.
Same pattern.
“Did she lose her house?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“Foreclosure scheduled next month.”
Helen looked at Cho.
“Can you stop it?”
“I’m not her lawyer.”
“But the fraud investigation—”
“May help.”
Helen stood.
“Does she know?”
“Yes.”
“Can I call her?”
Cho considered.
“If you know her personally, yes. Don’t discuss confidential investigative details.”
Helen called that evening.
Marjorie answered on the fourth ring.
Her voice sounded older than Helen remembered.
They spoke for twenty minutes.
Marjorie cried.
Not because of the house.
Because she had not told her children.
“I was ashamed.”
Helen understood immediately.
“They make shame useful,” she said.
Marjorie became quiet.
“What?”
Helen looked at the faint coffee stain in her tablecloth.
“They need us to hide.”
Marjorie began crying again.
That night she called her daughter.
Helen learned later.
One hidden problem became visible.
Then manageable.
Dylan called at eight.
“I went to a meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“Gambling recovery.”
Helen sat straighter.
“Therapist suggested it?”
“Yes.”
“How was it?”
“Awful.”
Helen smiled.
“I know.”
“Don’t.”
She laughed.
Dylan became serious.
“There was a guy there who lost his marriage.”
Helen waited.
“He kept saying he thought the next bet would repair the previous bet.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Yeah.”
Dylan paused.
“I did that with everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Money. Lies. You.”
Helen’s throat tightened.
“I kept thinking the next apology would repair the previous thing.”
He breathed out.
“But I never stopped doing the thing that required apologies.”
Helen closed her eyes.
“That is probably the most accurate thing you’ve said all week.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Yes.”
“Can I write down the date?”
“Don’t ruin it.”
He laughed.
The next morning Pierce called.
Wallace had begun negotiating through his attorney.
He was considering cooperation in exchange for reduced charges.
Helen felt immediate anger.
“He gets to cooperate too?”
“Everyone can provide information.”
“He built this.”
“Yes.”
“And now information buys him something.”
“It may.”
Helen hated it.
Pierce did not ask her not to.
“What does he have?”
“Names.”
“More police?”
“Possibly.”
“More victims?”
“Yes.”
Helen looked out the window.
“How many?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then Pierce added, “He also claims he has information about Dylan.”
Helen’s stomach tightened.
“What kind?”
“Something Dylan has not disclosed.”
Helen closed her eyes.
Of course.
“What?”
“Wallace says Dylan once helped him collect a debt personally.”
Helen stood.
“Did he hurt someone?”
“Wallace claims he did.”
Helen gripped the phone.
“Who?”
Pierce answered.
“Jeremy Collins.”
The name struck like a door slamming.
Helen remembered Dylan’s confession.
He had referred Jeremy.
He knew Jeremy was beaten.
He had said he tried afterward to make Ray leave him alone.
But he had never said he was there.
Helen looked at Robert.
“He lied again.”
Robert’s face tightened.
Helen corrected herself.
“No.”
She breathed slowly.
“I don’t know yet.”
That mattered.
Even now.
Especially now.
Pierce said, “We need Dylan back here.”
Helen looked at the clock.
It was two-thirty.
“He’s working.”
“This cannot wait until the weekend.”
“I didn’t say weekend.”
She called Dylan.
He answered beneath the noise of pneumatic tools.
“Mom?”
“Pierce needs you back here.”
Silence.
“When?”
“Today.”
Dylan heard something in her voice.
“What happened?”
Helen closed her eyes.
“Jeremy.”
The shop noise seemed to disappear.
Dylan did not ask what she meant.
That told her enough.
“Oh,” he whispered.
Helen’s heart sank.
“You were there.”
A long silence.
Then Dylan answered.
“Yes.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 20: Dylan’s Last Hidden Truth About Jeremy Forced Helen to Decide Whether Loving Her Son Meant Standing Beside Him While He Was Charged
The Night My Son Raised His Hand, I Finally Understood What All My Years of Protecting Him Had Created
Part 19 of 27
