Chapter 3 - The Cracks in the Foundation
As the second month ended,
the tone of the investigator's reports began to change.
The parties had stopped,
replaced by loud arguments that the neighbors could hear through the open windows.
Felicia’s credit cards began to be declined at the high-end boutiques she frequented.
She called the bank,
demanding to know why her "inheritance" was being restricted.
The bank gave her the standard reply:
"The account is under administrative review."
I could imagine her face turning red with fury,
her sharp red-soled shoes pacing the floors she didn't own.
Derek finally tried to call me one rainy Tuesday afternoon.
I watched the phone vibrate on the table,
the word "Son" flashing on the screen.
I didn't answer,
I couldn't.
I wasn't ready to hear his excuses,
and I wasn't ready to hear him beg.
If he had stood up for me when Felicia told me to live on the streets,
I would have shared everything with him.
I would have given them a beautiful life,
full of the security Arthur and I never had in our early years.
But he had chosen his path,
and now he had to walk it until the end.
I spent my days volunteering at the same hospital where I used to work,
but this time,
I was the one donating equipment and funding new wings.
It felt good to use Arthur’s hard-earned money for something that truly mattered.
I felt his presence every time I signed a check,
as if he were nodding in approval from somewhere far away.
Meanwhile,
the legal clock was ticking down to the ninety-day mark.
The trust was designed to be absolute.
If the conditions were not met,
the house and all associated funds would revert to the primary beneficiary:
me.
Felicia had already fired the gardener and the cleaning staff,
trying to save money to cover their mounting debts.
The once-pristine gardens began to grow wild,
and the house lost the glow it had always possessed when I was there.
It was as if the mansion itself were rejecting them,
turning cold and gray under their neglect.
Mr. Sterling called me into his office to sign the final eviction notice.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this,
Martha?"
he asked,
looking at me over his gold-rimmed glasses.
"They made their choice,"
I said,
May you like
the pen steady in my hand as I signed my name.
"Now they have to live with it."
