"Ever since I was a kid, the one thing she's always been afraid of is me threatening to leave. I've got this whole playing-hard-to-get routine down to an art."
"Besides, Dad and her only have one son. When they're old, who else are they going to depend on? There's no way she'd actually cut me off."
"We just wait right here. Give it ten minutes, tops. She'll come out crying, begging me to come back. And when she does, you'll have her completely under your thumb."
...
The two of them got more worked up the longer they talked.
They went on about how once they had money, they'd buy a mansion in their own names and get a guard dog specifically trained to keep me out.
Then they talked about shipping me off to the cheapest nursing home they could find when I got old, making me pay for everything I'd done today.
I'd heard enough.
I switched on the intercom's two-way speaker.
"Keep dreaming."
"That little push-and-pull game only works on someone who still has hope for you. I've lost every last shred of it."
"You want a mansion? Buy it with your own money."
"And don't worry about putting me in a nursing home. I'm still young. By the time I'm old, I'll buy a robot to take care of me. I won't need either of you."
"When you've got money, anyone can be your son."
They hadn't expected me to be right behind the door, listening to every word. For a moment, they were caught completely off guard.
"See? Eavesdropping on us! If that doesn't prove you're a crazy old hag, I don't know what does."
"But fine. Keep up the act. The harder you play it now, the sweeter it'll be when you come crawling back to apologize."
They hurled a few more insults at me.
I didn't bother firing back.
Instead, I picked up my phone and made a few calls.
The first was to my assistant. I told her to change the access codes on every property under my name, in case anyone without an invitation decided to let themselves in.
The second was to my private banker. I had them cancel every supplementary credit card I'd ever issued to Adam and Charlotte. Not another cent of my money.
The two of them were fuming outside the door.
But once they realized I wasn't going to open it, and probably started worrying I'd call the police, they grabbed their suitcases and left.
After they were gone, I had a locksmith come in and replace the smart lock entirely.
But even with the new lock, the anger wouldn't settle. Every time I looked around this apartment, all I could think about was the humiliation I'd endured within these walls.
So a few days later, I made time to call a real estate agent and had her come over. I told her to sell the place. I didn't care about the price. I just wanted it gone.
The agent was in the middle of filming a walkthrough video when my phone buzzed.
A string of transaction alerts.
I knew immediately.
These were charges from Adam and Charlotte.
But I'd already canceled their supplementary cards. And my husband was overseas on a business trip. Ian was a workaholic through and through; once he was locked into a project, household matters were the last thing on his mind.
And even if he did get involved, he'd side with me. There was no way he'd reinstate their cards out of nowhere. So how were they spending my money?
I was about to call the bank when I looked more closely at the alerts.
They hadn't used the supplementary cards. They'd used my primary card.
I reached into my purse for my wallet and came up empty.
The anger hit me like a wave.
Adam had actually stooped to stealing from me.
No wonder the two of them had huddled together whispering before they left that day. They'd swiped my bank card when I wasn't looking. And of course, my PIN was Adam's birthday.
I forced myself to breathe through the rage.
I called Adam. It rang and rang. I called again. And again. After several attempts, he finally sent back a few text messages.
"Charlotte and I don't feel like picking up your calls right now. We're about to head overseas for a nice vacation."
"If this is about the bank card, you don't have to guess. Yeah, I took it. You're my mom—your money is my money. Honestly, I was sick and tired of using a supplementary credit card."
"You have no idea what it's like. Every time I go out shopping, people laugh at me. They see the supplementary card and treat me like some kept man."
...
I didn't bother reading the rest.
I sent him three words.
"Give it back."
What I got in return was a red exclamation mark.
He'd blocked me.
I let out a cold laugh. I didn't call or text either of them again.
Instead, I picked up my phone and dialed 911.
"I'd like to report a stolen bank card. The losses have already exceeded a million dollars."
"The suspects are about to flee the country. Please, you have to help me recover the money."
