Chapter 4 - The Phone Call
My phone started ringing before I even finished my second cup of coffee at Marcus’s kitchen table.
I picked it up, staring at the flashing screen displaying Mother.
I let it ring three times, listening to the electronic chirp bounce off the quiet kitchen walls, before calmly swiping to answer.
“Grant Arthur Whitmore!” Lenora’s voice screamed through the speaker, vibrating with a level of furious panic I had never heard from her in my entire life. “What is the meaning of this? There are strange men in my foyer! They’re stacking boxes in the living room! They’re touching my mother’s antique credenza! Have you lost your absolute mind? Call them off right now!”
I took a slow sip of my coffee, keeping my voice entirely even, devoid of any anger or defensive heat.
“They’re not strange men, Mom. They’re professional movers,” I replied smoothly. “And they aren't touching your mother’s credenza without bubble wrap, hopefully. It’s quite fragile.”
“Grant! This isn't a joke!” she shrieked, the sound of a heavy cardboard box being taped shut echoing loudly in the background. “I am standing in my own home, and these thugs are treating my belongings like trash! Get over here right now and explain yourself to me face-to-face!”
“I’m not coming back to the house today,” I said, my tone remaining chillingly calm. “And it’s not your home, Mom. We established that legally three years ago when Victoria Sterling filed the deed transfer into the Whitmore Holdings LLC. You’ve been living there rent-free as a guest of the managing member.”
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the speaker.
“You... you transferred the deed?” she whispered, the arrogance entirely draining out of her voice, replaced by sudden, desperate disbelief. “You lied to me? You tricked your own mother?”
“I protected my family,” I corrected sharply, the memory of Audrey and six-week-old Caleb shivering beside that open window flashing behind my eyes. “You had your chance to treat my wife and son with basic human decency in that house. You chose to treat them like inconveniences. You chose to lock Audrey away and leave my newborn son in the freezing cold so your high-society friends wouldn't have to hear him cry.”
“It was just a temporary arrangement!” she cried defensively, her voice cracking. “The party was important! People of influence were here! You’re overreacting over a drafty window—!”
“A six-week-old infant was exposed near sub-zero winter air because you were too proud to cancel a cocktail party,” I cut her off, every syllable dropping like a lead weight. “That wasn't a draft. That was cruelty. And that house is my property. The movers have strict instructions to pack up every single personal item you own and transport them directly to the luxury apartment I leased for you downtown on Maple Street. Rent is paid for six months. After that, you’re on your own.”
“A downtown apartment?” Lenora sounded as if I had sentenced her to exile in a Siberian labor camp. “You expect me—me—to live in a box above a bakery after living in a twelve-room estate? Have you no respect for your bloodline? For your father’s memory?”
“My father would have thrown you out years ago if he saw how you treated people,” I said quietly. “The truck will be at your new apartment by 4:00 PM. I suggest you be there to direct them where to put your things. Goodbye, Mom.”
I hung up before she could scream another word.
Audrey walked into the kitchen just as I lowered the phone, holding Caleb softly against her shoulder. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of apprehension and profound relief.
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“Was that her?” she asked softly.
“That was her,” I said, standing up and walking over to wrap my arms around both of them. “And by this afternoon, that house is going to be completely empty. Just the way we left it.”
