Page 98 of Margo's Got Money Troubles

I ran to my desk and grabbed the binder. I could hear my dad explaining to her that Bodhi’s dad was here. “So cute!” she said, when she returned from whatever ocular pat-down she’d done of Mark and Bodhi in the living room.

The moment she sat down at the table with us, I opened the binder and tried to begin my spiel. I’d rehearsed what I wanted to say dozens of times. Every single night when I went to sleep, when I was using the bathroom, when I was waiting in line at the store, I was imagining justifying myself to Maribel.

“In our last meeting,” I said, but she interrupted.

“So, Jinx, you tested positive for opiates.”

She said this like it was so damning. Like he should be ashamed.

“We told you he would. He’s in a methadone treatment program,” I said.

“And has Jinx made any plans to get off methadone?”

“No,” I said, “but he is moving out this weekend, so whether or not he is on methadone shouldn’t have any further relevance.”

Maribel gave me an odd look I couldn’t interpret, then said, “I’ll need to see a copy of his lease.”

“It’s right here in the binder,” I said, pointing to section 3 in the table of contents.

“What is all of this?” she finally asked.

“These are examples of case law regarding previous CPS cases against camgirls in the state of California.”

Maribel let out a fake-dramatic sigh. “It really was not necessary to do all of this. Case law doesn’t determine whether we find your home safe or not. Margo, you did pass the urine test, which is why we are now asking for a hair follicle test.”

This was pretty much the worst thing she could have said. “Why would passing a drug test require me to take another drug test?” I asked. My heart was beating like dubstep. I would fail that hair follicle test. Ward and I had gone over what I should say, but I didn’t know what would happen if Maribel said something unexpected.

“When one person in the home tests positive for illegal drugs, it’s policy to do a more extensive panel on all the caretakers to catch anything the urinalysis may have missed. It’s very simple, we take an inch of hair, a single strand.” She explained this like I was a child who needed to be convinced to take medicine.

“Do you have a warrant for the drug test?” I asked.

Maribel half laughed. “We don’t usually get a warrant for a standard drug test.”

“Well, technically you should have gotten a warrant just to enter the apartment,” I said. “We only let you in as a gesture of goodwill on our part.”

“Are you refusing the drug test?” Maribel asked.

“No,” I said. “I would be happy to take the drug test if you show me a warrant for it.” Ward was positive no judge would sign off on such a warrant. There was no reason to suspect me of drug use, there were no drugs in the home, and Jinx’s positive result had a logical explanation. “They have zero probable cause,” Ward said. But I was kind of putting my whole life in Ward’s slightly sticky, weirdly hairless hands right now.

Maribel was writing something down in her notebook. Her pen had a little Sanrio frog on it. She was shaking her head, then she looked up at me, met my eyes. “When a parent refuses to cooperate in an investigation, it’s a big red flag. Refusing to take a simple hair follicle test—it makes you look extremely guilty.”

I kept trying to swallow, and it felt like my throat was swelling shut. “I understand,” I said. Of course refusing made me look guilty. Why had Ward and I convinced ourselves this would work?

Maribel reached over and rested her hand on my arm. Her nails were neatly painted a sparkly purple. “I’m saying this because I care about you, Margo. Refusing to cooperate with the investigation will look very, very bad.”

And just like that, I had the ground under me again. Maribel didn’t care about me. She’d taken the bluff too far. She was trying to manipulate me, and in an instant, everything was simple again. “Oh, I’m eager to cooperate with your investigation. I’ve organized some documents to help you. You can see, here is the table of contents and my 730 evaluation, which includes a full psychological profile and concludes that not only am I fit to parent Bodhi, but that my parenting style is optimal.” My voice was trembling. I cleared my throat in an effort to regain control of it. “Here is a letter from Mark, Bodhi’s father, expressing his full support for my work at OnlyFans. At the end is a collection of California case law examples that establish clear legal precedent for the legality of my work. There are dozens of cases wherein it was established that a mother working in a legal, sex-work-adjacent field could not have her employment used against her by CPS, whether that work was as a stripper or a camgirl.”

“That may be, but OnlyFans is a new phenomenon,” Maribel said, “and provides a unique situation because the sex work is taking place within the home where the child is being raised.” She said this with careful seriousness, stressing the words within the home. It was exactly the way they talked on Sesame Street.

“Right,” I said, smiling and nodding. “Yes, I can see that. But there is very little material difference between cam work and hosting a profile on OnlyFans. The last case in here was a successful lawsuit against CPS and the State of California on the part of Kendra Baker, whose children were taken because of her successful career as a camgirl. Just like me, Kendra Baker worked out of her home. Just like me, she kept her children out of her work life and was a good mother and a fit parent.”

I opened the binder to the correct page.

“She sued for, wait, what was it? Two million dollars?”

I left the page open so Maribel could see the actual amount was $2.2 million. And that Kendra Baker had won.

“This is very detailed,” Maribel said. “But like I said, our first concern is that the child is safe in the home.”

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