“We have expenses,” Sloan snaps. “We have a mortgage, utilities, property taxes. She should contribute.”
“The fair market rental value for a room in Columbus averages five hundred dollars with utilities included,” Marcus replies evenly. “You’ve been charging her that amount plus demanding additional payments. Do you have an itemized breakdown showing what percentage of utilities she actually uses?”
Silence.
He pulls out photographs next, laying them on the entry table one by one. Bank statements. Medication bottles I couldn’t afford to refill. Then the photograph from this morning: my bruised face with Deacon’s handprint visible.
Deacon stares at the images, his skin going gray.
“Mom, we can work this out,” he says, his voice suddenly shaking. “We don’t need lawyers. We can just talk—”
“Mr. Patterson, I strongly advise you not to speak without legal counsel,” Marcus interrupts. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.”
