I placed my hand over his and replied gently, “You were young and you trusted the adults around you, which means the responsibility belongs to the people who abused that trust.”
Caleb eventually began seeing a therapist and slowly rebuilt his sense of stability, yet another surprise arrived the following spring when Gregory Dalton called with unusual news. Monica had become eligible for a parole review and requested a meeting with me because she claimed to possess information about plans my father had hidden from everyone.
At first I refused because the idea of seeing her again made my chest tighten with anger. After discussing the situation with Anthony Fletcher and Caleb, however, I agreed to attend a supervised meeting inside the correctional facility.
The visitation room contained a thick glass barrier separating us, and when Monica entered wearing a plain prison uniform she looked older and more tired than the polished woman I remembered. She lifted the phone receiver slowly and said through the glass, “Brooke, I know you hate me, but you deserve to know something about your father.”
Caleb picked up another receiver beside me while Gregory Dalton observed quietly from the wall. I kept my voice steady as I asked, “Why should I believe anything you say now?”
Monica inhaled deeply before replying, “Because the truth no longer protects him, and I am tired of carrying his secrets.”
What she revealed during the next hour changed my understanding of the past even further. Harold had planned not only to secure his mother’s estate but also to gain legal authority over me through medical evaluations that could label me unstable after my grandmother’s death. He believed such control would force me to sign financial documents and surrender property without resistance.
Caleb whispered with disbelief, “He would have tried to lock Brooke into some kind of psychiatric control.”
Monica nodded slowly and said, “He talked about it constantly, and he believed fear would make you obedient.”
Hearing that plan confirmed a truth I had already begun accepting. My father’s ambition had never stopped with money, and his need for control had grown more dangerous each year.