Chapter 3
The next morning, David didn't go to work.
He sat at the kitchen table with his laptop open and three notebooks spread around him.
The money remained untouched.
His wedding ring was still beside it.
I stared at that little gold circle every time I entered the room.
For eight years, I'd watched him wear it proudly.
Now it looked like a tiny piece of a life that had broken overnight.
Felicia had left shortly after midnight.
She'd packed two suitcases and driven to her sister's house.
Before leaving, she'd told David that he would regret humiliating her.
He hadn't answered.
Instead, he'd locked the front door and checked on me.
Now, in the morning light, he looked exhausted.
"Mom, did you sleep?"
I shook my head.
He sighed.
"Neither did I."
I made coffee.
My hands trembled as I poured it.
David noticed.
He stood.
"Let me."
"I'm capable of making coffee, sweetheart."
He stopped.
Then smiled sadly.
"I know you are."
I handed him a cup.
We sat across from each other.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he opened his laptop.
"I called the accountant."
I looked up.
"What did he say?"
"He'll meet us at ten."
"Us?"
David nodded.
"I want you there."
My stomach tightened.
"David, I don't understand business matters."
"This isn't about understanding my business."
He reached for my hand.
"It's about understanding what happened to your money."
I looked down.
"Maybe I should just forget it."
His expression hardened.
"Mom, no."
I flinched.
He softened his voice.
"I'm sorry. But someone took advantage of your trust. We can't ignore that."
I nodded.
At ten, we drove to a small office downtown.
David's accountant, Harold Bennett, had known him for years.
He was a quiet man with silver-framed glasses and a serious expression.
He greeted me warmly.
"Mrs. Mitchell. It's good to see you."
I smiled.
"Hello, Harold."
We sat in his office.
David explained everything.
The rent.
The cash payments.
The papers.
The recording.
Harold listened without interrupting.
Then he asked to see the documents.
David looked frustrated.
"We don't have them."
Harold nodded.
"Then we'll need to identify what was signed."
He turned toward me.
"Mrs. Mitchell, did Felicia mention an investment?"
I thought carefully.
"She said my money could work harder."
David became still.
Harold leaned forward.
"What exactly did she say?"
I swallowed.
"She said older people shouldn't keep their savings sitting in the bank."
Harold wrote something down.
"Did she ask for access to your accounts?"
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
"She asked for my online banking information."
David stared at me.
"Mom..."
I began crying.
"I'm sorry."
He immediately reached for my hand.
"Please don't apologize."
Harold spoke gently.
"Mrs. Mitchell, people who exploit trust often make ordinary requests sound necessary. What matters now is securing your accounts."
I nodded.
He asked whether I had my bank statements.
I opened my purse.
I'd brought the folder where I kept important papers.
Inside were several statements.
Harold reviewed them.
His expression changed.
"Mrs. Mitchell, do you recognize this transfer?"
I leaned closer.
The amount was larger than anything I'd expected.
Twelve thousand dollars.
I stared at the number.
"No."
David leaned forward.
"What transfer?"
Harold turned the page toward him.
"An electronic withdrawal from your mother's savings account."
David's face went pale.
"When?"
"Six weeks ago."
I covered my mouth.
Six weeks.
That was around the time Felicia had told me she needed my signature for household expenses.
David looked at me.
"Mom, did you authorize this?"
I shook my head.
"No."
Harold pointed to the destination.
"The money went to an account associated with a company called Silver Oak Financial Partners."
David frowned.
"Never heard of it."
I felt sick.
"Neither have I."
Harold looked concerned.
"We should contact the bank immediately, report the unauthorized transaction, and request an investigation."
David nodded.
"Do it."
Harold continued.
"And Mrs. Mitchell, you should change your passwords and ask the bank about additional protections."
I nodded.
My throat felt tight.
Twelve thousand dollars.
More than a year of careful saving.
Money I'd planned to use for medical expenses and emergencies.
Money I'd never told David about because I didn't want him worrying.
Now it might be gone.
I stared at my hands.
"I'm so stupid."
David turned toward me.
"Mom, don't say that."
I shook my head.
"I should have read everything."
Harold spoke gently.
"Being deceived doesn't make you stupid."
But I didn't believe him.
Not yet.
On the drive home, David was quiet.
He gripped the steering wheel.
Finally, I spoke.
"Sweetheart?"
He glanced at me.
"Yes?"
"Please don't blame yourself."
His jaw tightened.
"How can I not?"
I looked out the window.
"Because Felicia chose to do this."
He swallowed.
"But I brought her into your life."
I turned toward him.
"You married someone you loved."
His eyes filled.
"I thought I knew her."
I reached for his arm.
"So did I."
When we arrived home, David's phone began ringing.
Felicia.
He stared at the screen.
Then answered.
"Hello."
I heard her voice immediately.
"David, we need to talk."
His expression hardened.
"About what?"
"Our marriage."
He took a breath.
"Then we need to talk about my mother's money first."
There was silence.
Then Felicia laughed nervously.
"What money?"
David looked at me.
"Twelve thousand dollars."
A long pause followed.
Then Felicia spoke sharply.
"Your mother is confusing things again."
My stomach dropped.
David's face hardened.
"Don't."
"David, she's old. She doesn't understand her accounts."
He closed his eyes.
I felt tears gathering.
Felicia continued.
"I was helping her invest."
David opened his eyes.
"Without telling me?"
"Because you'd overreact."
He looked at the bank statement.
"Where is the money?"
She hesitated.
Then said something that made my blood run cold.
"It's tied up in a property deal."
David became still.
"What property?"
Another pause.
Then Felicia whispered, "The assisted-living residence Gloria agreed to purchase."
I stared at my son.
He stared back.
Neither of us understood.
Then David asked the question I was too frightened to say aloud.
May you like
"What assisted-living residence?"
And suddenly, the possibility that Felicia had been planning to move me out of my own family's home became terrifyingly real.
