Chapter 2 - The Mask of the Victim
The phone on the dining table vibrated thirty seconds later.
The screen lit up with Spencer’s name, accompanied by the small picture of him smiling at a family dinner three years ago—a picture Abigail had kept on her nightstand for over a thousand nights.
Naomi looked at Abigail. "If you answer, you have to sound like the mother he thinks you are. If he suspects you know the truth, Croft will move his accounts offshore before the state police can freeze them."
Abigail took a slow, deep breath. She picked up the phone and swiped the green button.
"Spencer?" Abigail said. Her voice was slightly breathless, trembling just enough to mimic the anxious, exhausted tone she had used for eight months.
"Mom!" Spencer’s voice came through the speaker, heavy with artificial weakness, forcing a quiet, raspy cough into the line. "Where are you? I’ve been waiting for hours. Dr. Croft said my white blood cell count dropped again this afternoon."
Abigail gripped the edge of the table. Every instinct inside her wanted to scream, to ask him how he could look into her eyes while she pawned her life away for his fake illness.
Instead, she closed her eyes and let her decades of maternal instinct serve a new purpose.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Abigail said, her voice dripping with artificial worry. "My car had a flat tire on the highway. I had to wait for the tow truck."
On the other end of the line, Spencer let out a long, dramatic sigh. "It’s okay, Mom. I know you're doing your best. But Dr. Croft said there’s a new experimental therapy from the Boston clinic. If we can secure the deposit by tomorrow morning, they can airlift the medication here."
"A deposit?" Abigail asked softly. "How much is it, Spencer?"
"It’s... it’s about two hundred thousand dollars, Mom," Spencer said, his voice dropping into that soft, manipulative pitch she knew so well. "I know it’s impossible. I know you’ve given everything. I told Dr. Croft to just let me go home... I don't want to be a burden to you anymore."
Abigail closed her fist so hard her fingernails dug into her palm. A burden.
"Don't talk like that, Spencer," Abigail said, forcing a faint, trembling laugh into her tone. "You could never be a burden. And... remember the good news I told you about this morning?"
Silence fell over the line for two long seconds. Abigail could almost hear Spencer’s heart accelerating through the speaker.
"What good news, Mom?" he asked, trying to sound indifferent, but failing completely to hide the sharp hunger in his voice.
"I bought a quick-pick ticket at the corner market this morning, Spencer," Abigail said, her voice dropping to an awed whisper. "I checked the numbers while I was waiting for the tow truck. Son... we won."
A sharp intake of breath echoed from Room 12.
"You... you won?" Spencer stammered, abandoning all traces of his raspy, weak voice for a fraction of a second before quickly catching himself. "How... how much, Mom?"
"It’s... it’s twenty million dollars, Spencer," Abigail said softly. "The jackpot."
"My God," Spencer breathed out. He didn't ask if she was okay. He didn't say he was happy for her. He didn't even pretend to celebrate. "Mom... listen to me. Do not tell anyone! Do not call the news! You need to bring that ticket to the hospital right now. Dr. Croft’s legal team can help us process it quietly through a medical trust so the government doesn't take half of it in taxes!"
"A medical trust?" Abigail repeated, looking directly at Naomi, who was nodding sharply while recording the call on a digital tablet.
"Yes! A private medical trust," Spencer urged, his tone mounting into frantic excitement. "Dr. Croft is here in my room right now. He has the paperwork ready. Just bring the ticket here, Mom. We can save my life, pay off the printing shop, and never worry about anything again!"
Abigail looked down at the forged hospital invoices spread across her dining table.
"I’m on my way, Spencer," Abigail said gently. "Hold on just a little longer. Mommy’s coming."
She hung up the phone.
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Abigail set the device on the table, turned to Naomi, and her face went completely marble.
"Call the state financial crimes division, Naomi," Abigail commanded. "We are going to give my son the exact celebration he deserves."