Jennifer looked away.
“We were going to pay you back.”
“With what money?”
Her head snapped up.
“Jennifer, you have borrowed over eighty thousand dollars from me in the last five years. Stephanie, you are at sixty-three thousand. Neither of you has repaid a dime. Your credit cards are maxed out. You both live beyond your means while treating me like a private bank.”
Their faces told me everything.
They had no idea I had kept records.
“How do you know about our credit cards?” Stephanie asked.
“Because I am not the confused old woman Jennifer told the hotel I was.”
Jennifer flinched.
“Yes,” I said. “I saw the video.”
Her face reddened.
“I was angry.”
“You were honest.”
The room went quiet.
I walked to my desk and picked up three folders. One for Jennifer. One for Stephanie. One for me.
“It ends today,” I said.
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have made changes.”
I handed them the folders.
They opened them with irritated skepticism.
Then Jennifer’s face drained of color.
“You’re cutting us off.”
“I already have.”
“You can’t do this.”
“Yes, I can. It is my money.”
Stephanie flipped through the pages.
“All automatic payments have been stopped?”
“Yes.”
“The trust distributions are frozen?”
“Yes.”
Jennifer looked up.
“You amended your will?”
“Yes.”
“But how are we supposed to pay our mortgages?” Stephanie asked.
“The same way other adults do,” I said. “With the money you earn.”
Jennifer stood so quickly the folder slid from her lap.
“This is insane.”
“No,” I said. “What was insane was letting this continue for twelve years.”
She stared at me, breathing hard.
I opened my own folder.
“If you want any chance of restoring your place in my estate plans, there are conditions.”
“Conditions?” Jennifer repeated.
“First, both of you will enroll in financial counseling. I included three reputable advisers in Portland.”
Stephanie made a small sound.
“Second, you will repay every cent you have borrowed from me. I included a detailed accounting of all transactions.”
“That’s impossible,” Stephanie said. “We don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then you will set up payment plans.”
Jennifer sank back onto the sofa, her anger tangled with fear.
“Third, each of you will complete fifty hours of community service with organizations that support elderly victims of financial exploitation.”
“This is ridiculous,” Jennifer said. “We made one mistake.”
“One?” I raised an eyebrow. “Would you like me to list every emergency loan, every unpaid promise, every manipulation, every time you treated me as a resource instead of your mother? Because I have those records too.”
She looked down.
“Fourth, you will attend weekly family therapy with me for at least six months. I have already spoken with Dr. Elaine Matthews. She specializes in adult family dynamics.”
“Mom,” Stephanie pleaded, “be reasonable.”
“I am being reasonable. You simply are not used to me being firm.”
I closed my folder.
“These conditions are nonnegotiable. Meet them, and we can work toward rebuilding our relationship. Refuse, and you remain financially cut off permanently.”
Jennifer’s face hardened.
“And if we go public?” she asked. “If we tell people you abandoned us in Hawaii? If we say you’re using money to control us?”
I had expected that.
Jennifer’s strongest weapon had always been reputation. She cared about appearances and assumed everyone else feared exposure as much as she did.
“If you choose that path,” I said, “I will release complete records showing how you have both used me financially for years, along with proof of how the Hawaii trip was funded. I do not think that is a public conversation you want.”
The silence after that felt enormous.
Stephanie broke it with a sob.
“I don’t understand. You’ve always helped us before.”
“No,” I said softly. “I haven’t helped you. I enabled you. There is a difference.”
I stood.
“You have one week to decide whether you will meet my conditions. Until then, it is best if we do not communicate.”
“You’re kicking us out?” Jennifer said.
“I am asking you to leave my home.”