That night, as I lay in bed listening to them celebrate some minor business victory downstairs, I made my decision. Harold had tried to help them while protecting their pride. But Harold had never been humiliated at his own dinner table. It was time they learned exactly who they’d been taking for granted.
I waited exactly one week before making my first move. Seven days of watching Lennox parade around the house like she owned it. Making snide comments about my cooking, my clothes, my old-fashioned way of doing things. Seven days of Darren nodding along like a bobblehead, agreeing with whatever kept peace in his marriage.
On Thursday morning, I called Robert Chen again. I want to discontinue funding for Luminous Beauty LLC, I said, my voice steadier than I felt. Effective immediately. Are you certain, Mrs. Morrison?
This will likely cause significant financial strain for the business. I’m certain. Please also suspend the monthly property assistance payments. I’ll be handling those expenses myself going forward.
The truth was I could easily afford the property taxes and maintenance from my own social security and Harold’s pension. The trust had been unnecessary padding, making life comfortable for people who couldn’t even show me basic respect. Robert processed the paperwork over the phone.
By noon, the automatic transfers were cancelled. Luminous Beaut’s safety net had just disappeared, and they had no idea. I spent the rest of the day doing what I always did, cleaning, cooking, pretending to be the harmless old woman they thought I was. But inside, I felt alive in a way I hadn’t experienced since Harold died.
Friday brought the first sign of trouble. Lennox was on the phone in the kitchen, her voice tight with stress. What do you mean? The investor pulled out.
We had an agreement. She paced by the window, one manicured hand gesturing wildly. No, I don’t understand. Everything was approved last month.
I continued folding laundry at the kitchen table, invisible as always. Lennox barely glanced at me as she argued with whoever was on the other end of the call. Find out what happened, she snapped before hanging up. Then she noticed me sitting there.
Ramona, did you hear any of that? I looked up innocently. I’m sorry, dear. I was concentrating on getting these stains out of Darren’s shirts.
Is everything all right? She studied my face for a moment, then shook her head. Just business problems. Nothing for you to worry about.
Nothing for me to worry about. If only she knew. By Monday, the panic had set in. I could hear Lennox on the phone constantly calling banks, investors, anyone who might explain why her funding had suddenly dried up.
She’d slam down the phone and march around the house muttering about incompetent financial advisers and unreliable partners. Darren came home from work that evening looking exhausted. Over dinner, which I served at the dining room table, though neither of them invited me to join them this time, I could hear their tense conversation. The bank says someone requested a review of our business accounts, Lennox said, stabbing at her salad.
They won’t tell me who, but now everything is frozen pending some investigation. Investigation of what? Darren asked. We haven’t done anything wrong.
I know that, but apparently someone raised questions about our funding sources. They want documentation for every deposit over the past 2 years. I almost smiled. Robert had warned me this might happen.