Chapter 2
"Mom, why is Aunt Lorraine's name on this document?"
Marcus sounded as though he had forgotten how to breathe.
Vanessa snatched at the paper, but he moved it away.
I stood calmly beside the hallway table.
"Because your aunt has agreed to become my co-owner."
His eyes widened.
"Co-owner?"
"Yes."
Vanessa laughed.
It was an ugly sound.
"That's impossible."
I looked at her.
"Actually, it was quite simple with the right attorney."
Marcus flipped through the document.
His hands were shaking.
"You transferred part of the house to Aunt Lorraine?"
"I did."
"Without telling me?"
I stared at him.
"Did you tell me you were moving into my house?"
He looked away.
Vanessa stepped forward.
"That's different."
"How?"
"Marcus is your son!"
"And?"
She blinked.
I waited.
When she couldn't find an answer, I continued.
"Being my son doesn't give him the right to control my property while I'm alive."
Marcus looked wounded.
"Mom, you know I would never take advantage of you."
I almost answered immediately.
But then I remembered the bank statement sitting inside my folder.
And the phone call I'd received three days earlier.
"Are you sure about that?"
He frowned.
"What are you talking about?"
I closed the folder.
"We'll discuss that when we're alone."
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"Whatever you have to say to Marcus, you can say in front of me."
"No."
She looked offended.
"Excuse me?"
"My relationship with my son existed before your marriage. Not every conversation requires your permission."
Marcus rubbed his forehead.
"Mom, can we please stop fighting?"
I looked toward the driveway.
"Take the suitcases back to your car."
Vanessa planted her feet.
"We have nowhere else to go."
"Then perhaps you should have considered that before arriving."
She pointed toward me.
"You would really leave your own son homeless?"
The accusation hurt.
I had never wanted Marcus to suffer.
But I also knew that rescuing him from every consequence had helped create this moment.
I turned toward him.
"Marcus, are you in immediate danger?"
He looked confused.
"What?"
"Have you been sleeping outside? Are you without food? Are you unable to afford temporary accommodation?"
He hesitated.
"No."
"Then you're not homeless."
Vanessa scoffed.
"We have expenses."
"So do I."
She glanced around the house.
"You have plenty of space."
I met her eyes.
"Space doesn't equal permission."
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Marcus lowered the folder.
"Can we talk privately?"
I nodded.
"After you put the luggage back into the vehicle."
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Marcus stopped her.
"Just do it."
Her face changed.
"What did you say?"
"I said we're putting the bags back."
She stared at him.
Then she stormed toward the driveway.
Marcus followed.
I watched through the window as they argued beside the SUV.
Vanessa waved her arms.
Marcus pointed toward the house.
Finally, they loaded everything into the vehicle.
When Marcus returned, he looked exhausted.
"Can I come in?"
I stepped aside.
"Yes."
He entered the living room.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I looked at the couch where he'd once fallen asleep watching cartoons.
The photographs on the mantel.
The graduation picture beside his father's portrait.
I wondered when my son had stopped seeing this place as his childhood home and started seeing it as an asset waiting to become his.
He sat down.
"Why Aunt Lorraine?"
I folded my hands.
"Because I trust her."
His expression tightened.
"You don't trust me?"
I looked at him sadly.
"Do you want an honest answer?"
He nodded.
"Not completely."
He flinched.
I continued before he could interrupt.
"Your aunt has never asked me for money I couldn't afford to give. She's never treated my age like an inconvenience. And she has never spoken about my death as a financial opportunity."
Marcus covered his face.
"Mom, I didn't mean it like that."
"Then tell me what you meant."
He lowered his hands.
"I was trying to reassure Vanessa."
"By promising her something that didn't belong to you?"
He remained silent.
I reached into the folder.
"There's another reason I changed my estate plans."
I placed a bank statement on the coffee table.
Marcus looked at it.
Then frowned.
"What's this?"
"My savings account."
"Why are you showing me?"
"Because last month, eighteen thousand dollars disappeared from it."
His head snapped up.
"What?"
I watched his expression carefully.
"Eighteen thousand dollars."
"How?"
"That's what I wanted to ask you."
He shook his head.
"Mom, I don't know anything about that."
I studied him.
I wanted to believe him.
More than anything.
But the withdrawal records showed something troubling.
Someone had used information that should have remained private.
Information I'd shared with my son.
"Do you remember helping me set up online banking?"
Marcus nodded.
"Last Christmas."
"Do you remember writing down the password information?"
His expression changed.
"Yes."
"Where did you keep it?"
He hesitated.
"In my desk."
"At your apartment?"
"Yes."
I took a breath.
"Who else had access to that desk?"
His eyes moved toward the front window.
Vanessa was sitting inside the SUV.
Watching the house.
Marcus whispered, "My wife."
I said nothing.
He looked back at the statement.
"Mom, Vanessa wouldn't..."
His voice faded.
I waited.
Then he looked at me again.
"Are you accusing her?"
"I'm telling you what I've discovered."
He shook his head.
"There must be another explanation."
"I hope there is."
He picked up the statement.
His hands trembled.
Then his eyes stopped on one line.
"Willow Ridge Consulting?"
I nodded.
"That's where the money went."
Marcus stared at the name.
Something passed across his face.
Recognition.
Fear.
Then disbelief.
"Marcus?"
He swallowed.
"Vanessa told me she started a consulting company."
My heart sank.
"When?"
He whispered, "Two months ago."
I looked toward the driveway.
Vanessa was still watching us.
Then my son said something that made my stomach turn.
"Mom, she told me the money came from an inheritance."
May you like
I closed my eyes.
Because suddenly the missing savings and the suitcases at my door no longer seemed like separate problems.
