Chapter 3 - The Drive to Baltimore
The three-hour drive from Annapolis to my condo in downtown Baltimore was completely silent. The winter sun set behind the trees, casting long dark shadows across Interstate 97 as I kept my hands firmly on the steering wheel of my SUV.
My phone on the dashboard dashboard vibrated continuously.
Incoming Call: Mom (5) Incoming Call: Jason (8) Incoming Call: Amanda (4) Incoming Call: Dad (12)
I didn't answer a single one. I had connected my phone to silent mode, letting every frantic call go straight to voicemail.
For three years, I had believed I was helping my family through a temporary rough patch. When Dad had his triple bypass surgery, the medical bills drained his modest savings, leaving him unable to cover their $2,400 monthly mortgage on the Annapolis home they'd lived in for twenty-five years. Evelyn had called me in tears, begging me to help "save the family home."
She had sworn to me that Dad knew about the arrangement and that they were working on downsizing. She had swore that Jason and Amanda were making progress toward paying their own bills. I trusted her because she was my mother.
Instead, she used my generosity as a weapon. She took my $4,720 every month, distributed it under the guise of her own charitable genius, and told everyone in our extended family that I was a lonely, unemployed shut-in who relied on my parents for emotional support whenever I visited.
When I arrived at my building in Baltimore, the doorman greeted me warmly, helping me carry my small bag into the elevator. My penthouse condo was modern, peaceful, and entirely paid for—a result of twelve years of relentless work building my own remote cybersecurity consulting firm.
I sat down on my leather sofa, poured a glass of red wine, and opened my laptop.
It was time to audit everything.
I opened my corporate banking portal and pulled up every transaction linked to the Foster family over the last thirty-six months. As I reviewed the numbers, my stomach churned.
It wasn't just $4,720 a month.
There were secondary accounts I'd forgotten about. An emergency credit card I'd given my mother for "groceries and prescription drugs" had been used for luxury spa visits, high-end department store clothes, and catering services for her garden club. Over thirty-six months, Evelyn had charged an additional $34,000 to that card alone.
Total money spent on my family over three years: $203,920.
And during that entire time, not once had my mother thanked me. Not once had Jason or Amanda asked how I was doing. They simply took the money, treated me like a black sheep, and sneered at my career.
At 9:00 PM, my phone buzzed with a text message from my father.
Emily, please call me. Your mother is in hysterics. Jason is threatening to sell his truck, and Amanda says she'll have to quit her job if she loses childcare. We need to talk about this like a family.
I stared at the message for a long moment. Then I typed back a short, clear response:
May you like
Dad, I love you. But the auto-pays are deleted. My lawyer will be in touch tomorrow morning to handle the formal transition of your mortgage accounts. Goodnight.
I closed my laptop, turned off my phone, and slept peacefully for the first time in three years.
