But the signatures were there, notarized – forged with care by her own son.
The irony was almost too much to take in. The woman who had pried open my cabinet to steal her granddaughter’s savings had just learned that her son had stolen her identity to cover his gambling debts.
Before anyone could say another word, a young blonde woman in designer sunglasses pushed her way past the servers.
Tiffany.
“Derek, my card just got declined at the salon, and the landlord is threatening to throw me out!” she shouted. Then she froze, finally taking in the room.
Linda completely lost it and lunged toward her. “So you’re the leech who’s been living off my family’s money?!”
Tiffany stumbled backward. “Your money?! Derek told me he was divorced! He said he was selling this house and buying us a penthouse!”
Linda spun around to face her son. “You told me we were remodeling so I could have the whole top floor!”
Brooke’s voice came out as a squeak. “Wait… what about my walk-in closet?”
Derek had built a custom fantasy for every single person in his life.
For his mother, a luxurious retirement.
For his sister, a rent-free paradise.
For his girlfriend, a penthouse lifestyle.
And for me, the exhausted breadwinner working eighty-hour weeks, a promise that it was all “for our future.”
Victor unrolled the blueprints the contractor had left behind across the dining table.
“Linda,” I said quietly. “I want to show you something.”
The plans showed a huge primary suite for Linda. A separate apartment for Brooke. A lounge for Derek. A guest suite.
“Where is Lily’s bedroom?” I asked.
Linda couldn’t look at me. “She’s just a kid… We were going to put a pull-out couch in the basement den. She’ll grow up and move out eventually anyway.”
