Chapter 1 - THE FALL AND THE REVELATION
“If you expect to reside under my roof, at least figure out how to dish out supper without ruining it,” Derek snarled mere moments before shoving me into the refrigerator.
That felt infinitely worse than just being screamed at.
It was a callous, indifferent shove, treating me as if I wasn't even human, just a piece of furniture blocking his path in the kitchen. My right leg, which was still frail from a severe bout of pneumonia that had confined me to a hospital bed for twelve days, gave way immediately. I collapsed onto the cold marble tiles and experienced a burning pain radiate from my hip all the way to my shoulder.
Derek didn't even make an effort to help me to my feet. “Look at the disaster you create, Margaret. You can't even manage to prepare a simple risotto.”
Glancing into the living room, I spotted my daughter Allison relaxing in front of the TV. She wore that same blank look I had come to deeply hate over the last few months: gaze cast downward, mouth clamped shut, completely motionless.
“Derek...” she whispered softly.
He grabbed the wooden spoon and returned to his cooking. “Your mother tripped. You know exactly how she gets.”
I kept my eyes on Allison, anticipating that she would speak up with the truth. She remained silent.
My name is Margaret Collins. I am seventy years of age, and up until three months ago, I was happily living independently in my house near Asheville, North Carolina. My husband, Henry, had passed away nineteen years prior. From that moment on, I had tended to his beautiful garden and embraced a quiet, simple existence, taking pride in the fact that I relied on no one.
Then, catching pneumonia altered my entire reality. My physician was adamant that I should not attempt to heal all by myself. Allison pleaded with me to move in with her and Derek for a couple of weeks at their luxurious condo in Myers Park, Charlotte, North Carolina.
“It's just for a short time, Mom. Plus, it will be wonderful to have you nearby.”
I yielded, entirely for her sake. During the initial week, Derek played the part of the charming host. He fetched me cups of tea, inquired if I lacked anything, and jokingly referred to me as “the queen of the household.”
But the moment my energy returned, the queen was demoted to the maid. It started with him asking me to fold some laundry. Then he told me to sweep up the floors. Soon enough, he demanded I take over the cooking because “I was just sitting at home all day regardless.”
In under a month's time, my so-called recovery had to be squeezed in between laundering his garments, scrubbing the toilets, and whipping up whatever meals he demanded. If he felt the coffee was too bold, he whined about it. If it tasted too watered-down, he complained just the same. If a single shirt had a crease, he labeled me incompetent.
One evening, I made an attempt to reason with Allison. “Honey, I came to this house to heal, not to act as a servant for your husband.”
She didn't even lift her eyes from her screen. “Mom, stop it. Derek is dealing with immense stress. Please don't turn this into a massive problem.”
A fortnight later, when I brought up that I felt strong enough to head back to my own house, Derek scoffed, “Why would you leave? You're actually useful around here.”
Useful. That specific word echoed in my mind right up until the afternoon he shoved me.
I hauled myself up, leaning heavily against the fridge to find my balance. I marched right past Allison without voicing a single word and secured myself inside the guest bedroom. That is when my mind jumped back to the cream-colored envelope delivered earlier that morning. It had my name on it and was sent from a financial firm I had never heard of before.
My fingers were shaking uncontrollably as I tore it open. It contained documents regarding a confidential trust Henry had set up long before he died. I scanned the page once. Then I read it again. And then a third time.
May you like
The total assets secured within this trust were valued at more than 140 million dollars. But that detail wasn't what left me gasping for air. Printed on the very last page was the title of a real estate firm controlled by the trust, followed by an inventory of properties. Sitting right there on that list was the exact same apartment where I had just been forced to the floor.
Allison and Derek's upscale condo. The very “roof” Derek bragged about letting me stay under as an act of charity. The truth was, I owned it. And they were completely clueless about the storm that was about to hit them next.
