Chapter 4 - THE TRANSFER OF POWER
By the time I returned to the house that afternoon, the stage was perfectly set. The dining room table had been cleared of its usual expensive floral arrangements and replaced with neat stacks of legal documents. My mother’s personal notary, a nervous-looking man named Richard who clearly didn’t ask too many questions for the right price, was sitting at the head of the table, organizing his stamps.
My mother was practically vibrating with excitement. She had changed into a sharp, tailored pantsuit, looking every bit the ruthless banker she used to be. Brooke was applying lip gloss in the reflection of her phone screen, looking bored but eager for the payout.
“There you are!” Lorraine exclaimed as I walked in, feigning maternal affection. “Where have you been? Richard has been waiting for twenty minutes.”
“I had to run to the bank to ensure the receiving accounts were cleared for the wire transfer,” I lied smoothly, pulling out a chair. “Where’s Natalie? I told her to stay out of the way.”
“Oh, she’s in the basement,” Brooke sneered, not looking up. “Probably sleeping again. Honestly, you need to divorce her once we get the money. She’s dragging you down.”
I forced a smile, though my hands balled into fists under the table. “One problem at a time, Brooke. Let’s get this done.”
Richard cleared his throat and slid the first stack of papers toward me. “Alright, Mr. Vance. We have the quitclaim deed for the Scottsdale property. Your mother is transferring full ownership, waiving all equity rights, directly to you. We just need her signature here, and yours here to accept.”
My mother didn't even hesitate. She grabbed her gold-plated Montblanc pen and scrawled her signature across the bottom line. She was signing away a two-million-dollar home that she had bought entirely with my remittances, believing a mythical nine-hundred-thousand-dollar check would allow her to buy something even bigger.
Next came the cars. The title to the pearl-white SUV Brooke loved so much, the Mercedes sedan my mother drove, and even the vintage Mustang they had bought as an "investment." Signed, sealed, and transferred into my sole possession.
Then came the financial accounts. Over the years, my mother had funneled my money into mutual funds, high-yield savings accounts, and offshore trusts, all under her name using the old power of attorney. The documents Richard prepared completely dissolved her rights to these accounts, transferring the balance of over $350,000 in liquid cash directly into a secure, single-party account I had opened that morning.
As my mother signed the final document dissolving her power of attorney—the very instrument she had used to steal from me and torture my wife—she looked up at me with a greedy, conspiratorial grin.
“There,” she breathed, dropping the pen. “It’s done. Everything is in your name. Now, when does the company wire the funds?”
I carefully gathered the documents, placing them into a thick leather briefcase. I snapped the locks shut. The sound was incredibly loud in the quiet dining room. It sounded like the slamming of a prison cell door.
“The company compliance officer reviews the transfers tomorrow morning,” I said, maintaining the facade perfectly. “The funds should be released by tomorrow night. In fact, we should celebrate.”
Brooke clapped her hands together. “Oh my god, yes! Let’s throw a dinner party tomorrow night! I’ll invite the girls, Mom can invite her country club friends. We can cater it from that place in Sedona!”
“That sounds perfect,” I said, standing up. “Invite everyone. The more people to witness our... success, the better. Spare no expense, Mom. Put it on your credit card. I’ll pay it off on Monday.”
Lorraine beamed, already pulling out her phone to start making calls. “It’s going to be the event of the season. Oh, we are going to be so wealthy, darling.”
“Yes, Mom,” I said, walking toward the hallway. “Someone is certainly getting exactly what they deserve.”
I walked down the stairs to the basement storage room. Natalie wasn't there, of course. She was safe in a private suite at the Mayo Clinic, resting peacefully with proper medication and real food. I packed up the few pathetic belongings my mother had allowed her to keep—a few cheap shirts, a toothbrush, a battered paperback book. I threw them in a duffel bag, walked out to my truck, and drove back to the hospital.
May you like
That night, for the first time in nearly six years, I slept in a chair next to my wife. She was hooked up to machines, her skin still pale, but she was breathing easily. She was safe.
Tomorrow night, the illusions would shatter. Tomorrow night, the reckoning would arrive.
