PART 4: The Web of Lies
By evening, Gwen was comfortably settled in a private recovery suite on the fifth floor of the Memorial Cancer Institute. The room was warm, filled with soft lighting and a quiet hum of medical monitors tracking her vitals. For the first time in five months, she was eating a warm, nutrient-rich meal delivered by hospital dietary staff, away from the watchful eyes and venomous words of my mother and sister.
I sat in the armchair beside her bed, peeling an orange for her, when my phone buzzed violently in my pocket.
It was a call from Margaret.
I let it ring out. A few seconds later, another call came in—this time from Paige. I ignored that one as well. By the third call, a text message flashed across my screen from my mother:
Where the hell are you? Guests are coming over for dinner to see the house, and that bald freak is locked in her room! Pick up the phone right now, Gavin!
I smiled faintly, typing out a brief, calculated response:
Took Gwen to see a medical specialist in the city. Might be late. Don't touch anything in her room.
I locked the phone and slipped it back into my pocket. Let them panic. Let them wonder why the obedient, easily manipulated son they thought they knew was suddenly slipping out of their grasp.
“Gavin,” Gwen whispered, looking up from her hospital tray with deep concern in her eyes. “Your mother... she’s going to be furious when you get back. If she finds out you spent money on this hospital room instead of keeping it for the house... she’ll make your life impossible.”
“Gwen, listen to me,” I said, leaning forward and taking her fragile hand in mine. “For four years, I believed I was building a future for us. Every dollar I sent back was supposed to secure our life together. But my mother and sister treated that money as their personal inheritance. They bought luxury items, built extensions, and left you to starve and suffer alone.”
Gwen’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid of causing a family war. Your mother told me I was a parasite.”
“They are the parasites,” I said, my voice hardening. “And today, I started the process of cutting them off permanently.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, alarmed.
“Remember the four-hundred-thousand-dollar compensation package I mentioned?”
Gwen nodded slowly. “You said the company gave it to you.”
“I lied,” I confessed softly. “There is no corporate compensation package. Not yet, anyway.”
She stared at me in bewilderment. “Then where did you get the money for this hospital room?”
“From the secret savings account I opened two years ago in Yellowknife,” I explained, watching the relief wash over her face. “When I realized my mother was constantly complaining about money while demanding more, I stopped sending a portion of my direct bonuses through her designated channel. I opened an independent account that only I control. I have over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars sitting safely in that account—money they have no idea exists.”
Gwen let out a long, shaky breath, as if a massive boulder had been lifted off her chest. “Thank God... but your mother and sister think you’re wealthy from the company payout. What happens when they realize it’s a trap?”
“That’s exactly what it is,” I said, a cold edge to my smile. “A trap. And by tomorrow morning, they are going to walk right into it.”
The plan was already set in motion. Before leaving the house, I had left a draft document on the kitchen counter—deliberately placed so Paige would snoop through it while I was gone. It was a mock financial statement bearing an official-looking corporate letterhead, outlining a pending four-hundred-thousand-dollar asset transfer tied directly to local property deeds.
To claim the imaginary funds, the document stated, the primary asset holder—currently registered under Margaret’s name—had to formally transfer the deed and all secondary property titles back to the primary earner, Gavin Vance, in a legal proceeding scheduled for the following morning at a local notary office.
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If Margaret and Paige refused to sign, the multi-million-dollar package would be legally forfeited to corporate reserves. Blinded by greed, they wouldn't hesitate. They would rush to the notary office faster than lightning to secure what they believed was their golden ticket, completely unaware that the moment they signed those papers, every single asset they currently held would legally revert back to me—leaving them with nothing.
“Rest, Gwen,” I said, gently kissing her forehead. “Tomorrow, everything changes.”
