She looked at him with panic in her eyes, but said nothing. He understood. You were going to keep the difference.
You were going to put her in a horrible place and pocket $5,800 every month. Harper tried to take his hand, but he pulled away. Liam, my love, you have to understand that money was going to be for us, for our future, for the trips we want to take, for the bigger house we want to buy.
Your mother wasn’t going to notice anyway. She doesn’t know about luxury or the slap from Liam echoed through the foyer like a thunderclap. It was so unexpected.
We all took a step back. Harper brought her hand to her cheek, looking at him in disbelief. I had never seen her speechless before.
Shut up, Liam said with a voice shaking with rage. Don’t say another word, he turned to me with tears rolling down his cheeks. Mom, I didn’t know.
You have to believe me. Harper told me it was the best thing for you. That in those places you would have better medical care, that you would be safer.
I thought he broke down, covering his face with his hands. My God, what have I done? I wanted to feel compassion for him.
I wanted to believe he really didn’t know. But Arthur pulled another folder from the briefcase before I could respond.
There is more, he said professionally. Much more. This folder was even thicker than the last.
It contained bank statements, credit card records, additional photographs. Mr. Sterling also investigated your family’s finances, Mrs. Eleanor. He believed it was important you knew exactly what kind of people you were dealing with.
He opened the folder and began to read. Harper Duran has gambling debts of $82,000. She has been betting online for the last two years using credit cards in her husband’s name without his knowledge.
Liam went even paler. Madison has received bank transfers from her sister totaling $35,000 in the last 18 months, all coming from the marriage’s joint accounts. The words fell like bombs.
Each revelation was worse than the last. Furthermore, Arthur continued, “There is evidence that both sisters planned once you were committed to the facility to petition for legal power over your financial affairs, claiming senile dementia. They had prepared medical documents falsified by a doctor who turned out to be a friend of the family.”
Madison finally found her voice. “This is ridiculous. You cannot prove any of that.”
“These are baseless accusations.” But her voice shook so much her words lacked conviction. Arthur simply smiled.
A small professional gesture that was somehow terrifying. I have recordings, he said simply. Phone conversations between you and your sister, explicitly discussing the plan.
Conversations where you refer to Mrs. Eleanor as the stupid old woman and the obstacle. Conversations where you calculate how much money you could get if you manage to declare her incompetent and sell her alleged properties. He pressed play on a small digital recorder.
Harper’s voice filled the foyer, clear and unmistakable. Once we have her locked up, we wait 6 months and then file the papers. Dr. Mendes already agreed to sign the dementia documents for $5,000.
After that, everything the old hag has will legally be Liam’s and therefore mine. Madison’s laugh followed. You are a genius, sister.
That poor idiot will never know what hit her. The silence after the recording was sepulchral. The guests looked at Harper and Madison with horror and disgust.
Liam was completely shattered, looking at his wife as if he had never really seen her before. And she, Harper, the woman who an hour ago had been sitting on her throne of arrogance, was now trembling like a leaf. But the most interesting part, I said, claiming everyone’s attention, is that you thought I had nothing.
All this elaborate plan, all this effort to keep my miserable apartment and my non-existent savings. I laughed. A genuine laugh that bubbled up from deep inside me.
You spent money on private investigators trying to find my supposed properties. You bribed a doctor. You planned for months and all for nothing.
Harper fell to her knees. She literally collapsed onto the foyer floor, sobbing. Please, Eleanor.
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