Chapter 4 - THE HOUSE BEHIND THE PAWN SHOP
The prepaid card records showed repeated purchases at a grocery store in East Knoxville and a pharmacy near Magnolia Avenue.
I gave the information to the APS investigator rather than searching alone. She explained that Mother’s financial records could support a civil case, but locating Aaron was a separate issue unless there was evidence he was in danger.
There was.
The pharmacy had filled a prescription for medication used to treat opioid dependence. The patient name was Aaron Whitlock.
The address belonged to a small rental house behind a pawn shop.
I found him there two days later with Denise’s permission nowhere in sight.
Aaron opened the door wearing sweatpants and an old shirt from my garage. He was thinner than I remembered, but his eyes were clear.
He tried to close the door.
I stopped it with my boot.
“Did your mother give you Grandma’s money?”
His face changed. “What did she tell you?”
“She told me she hadn’t heard from you.”
Aaron sat on a torn couch and rubbed both hands over his face.
He admitted leaving treatment after a fight with another resident. Denise found him at a motel and rented the house so he would not return to the street.
At first, she bought groceries and paid for outpatient medication. Then she began bringing cash.
“She said Grandma wanted to help.”
“Did you speak to Grandma?”
“Once. She sounded confused.”
I showed him a still image from the camera footage.
Aaron looked away.
“I didn’t know.”
“Did you ever ask where the money came from?”
“No.”
The answer carried the same cowardice I had shown whenever Denise said Mother was merely having a difficult day.
Aaron opened a kitchen drawer and removed a stack of envelopes. Each contained cash and a handwritten total.
Denise had told him to sign receipts claiming the money paid for counseling sessions, transportation and rent. Several services had never occurred.
“She said it was for Grandma’s tax records,” he said.
The false receipts explained part of the missing money, but not all of it.
Inside the final envelope was a notice from our mortgage lender.
Our home equity line was three months past due.
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Denise had not only taken Mother’s savings.
She had borrowed heavily against our house while telling each of us that the others were the reason she needed money.
