Chapter 6 - A Mother’s True Colors
Two weeks after the eviction, I received a call from my mother.
She was calling from a cheap motel near the airport. Her voice was cracked, stripped of all the dignity she had once pretended to have.
"Daniel," she wept into the phone. "Please. You have to help me. The police came to the Malibu condo. They said I have to leave because the lease was terminated. I have no money, Daniel! My bank cards don't work! I had to pawn my watch just to pay for this room!"
"You had a twenty-thousand-dollar monthly allowance, Mother," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "Where did it go?"
"I... I had to help Michael! He owed money to some very bad people, Daniel! If I didn't pay them, they said they would hurt him! And Ashley... she had so many debts... I was only trying to protect your siblings!"
"By destroying my wife?" I asked. "By treating Emily like an animal? You knew she was the only person who stayed by me when I had nothing. You knew she worked eighteen-hour shifts to help me pay the rent on our first kitchen. And yet, the moment you got your hands on my money, you treated her like trash."
"I was wrong!" she cried. "I admit it! I was jealous! She was so simple, so quiet... I thought she didn't deserve to be the lady of such a grand house. I thought my family—your real family—deserved to enjoy the fruits of your success! Please, Daniel, have mercy on your own mother!"
"Mercy is a luxury you didn't offer Emily," I said. "But I will give you a choice, Mother. A single choice."
There was a gasp of hope on the other end of the line. "Anything, Daniel! Anything!"
"You will sign a full, legally binding confession admitting to the forgery of my signature and the unauthorized transfer of funds for the Aspen property. You will also sign a waiver relinquishing any future claims to my estate, my company, or my assets. In exchange, I will not press criminal charges against you, and I will purchase a modest, one-bedroom retirement cottage in a quiet suburb of Ohio. You will live there on a fixed, supervised allowance of two thousand dollars a month. No credit cards, no luxury cars, no designer clothes. Just a quiet, simple life."
"Ohio?" she screamed, her voice suddenly losing its pathetic tone, replaced by her old, venomous anger. "You want to banish me to Ohio? On two thousand dollars a month? That's pennies! I can't live on that! I am your mother!"
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"Then you can choose option two," I replied smoothly. "The District Attorney has the files. I'm sure the state prison system has much cheaper housing, and the food is entirely free. You have twenty-four hours to decide."
I hung up before she could answer.
