PART5

“This is Eleanor. I need an appointment with Mr. Harrison as soon as possible.”

“Certainly. Is this regarding your estate documents?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And I’d also like to review whether anyone has attempted to access or change anything connected to my financial accounts.”

There was a short pause.

“Of course, Mrs. Eleanor. I can arrange that.”

I gave her my availability.

After hanging up, I returned the documents to the folder.

But I didn’t put it back in the drawer.

I placed it on the kitchen table.

Because suddenly, I had a feeling that the story of the apartment rent was only the beginning.

That afternoon, Caleb arrived at my building.

I saw him through the small window beside the entrance.

He was wearing the navy suit he had worn to the party. His hair was messy, and he looked as though he had not slept.

I considered pretending I wasn’t home.

Then I decided I was tired of hiding.

I opened the door.

“Hello, Caleb.”

“Mom.”

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Why aren’t you answering my calls?”

“I answered Vanessa’s.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

He walked into the living room and looked around.

His eyes moved over the old sofa, the small television, and the photographs on the wall.

For a moment, I wondered whether he was seeing my home for the first time in years.

Then he turned toward me.

“We need to fix this.”

“What exactly needs fixing?”

“The rent situation.”

I nodded slowly.

“Your rent situation.”

He exhaled.

“Mom, please. I know Vanessa was out of line last night.”

“That is one way to describe it.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“You should.”

“But you have to understand something. We have a lifestyle to maintain. My job is demanding, and Vanessa has her own career. We can’t suddenly move somewhere cheaper.”

I studied his face.

“Then perhaps you should have saved some money during the last five years.”

His jaw tightened.

“We were building our lives.”

“So was I.”

He looked away.

“Can we not do this?”

I walked toward the kitchen.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“No.”

I poured myself a cup anyway.

He followed me.

“Mom, you know I love you.”

I looked at him.

“Then why did you let your wife humiliate me in front of everyone?”

He rubbed his face.

“She didn’t mean it that way.”

“She asked how I survived without contributing anything.”

“She was joking.”

I set the coffee pot down.

“Did you find it funny?”

He didn’t answer.

I nodded.

“That’s what I thought.”

Then he reached into his jacket and removed a folded piece of paper.

“There’s something else.”

I looked at it.

“What is that?”

“A temporary financial authorization. It would make things easier while we sort out the apartment.”

I didn’t touch it.

“What kind of authorization?”

“Just something that allows me to handle a few financial matters on your behalf. In case you need help.”

I stared at him.

“Help with what?”

“Your accounts. Bills. Things like that.”

I felt a chill move through me.

“Why would you need access to my accounts?”

He became impatient.

“Because you’re getting older, Mom. You shouldn’t have to manage everything alone.”

I looked at the paper again.

Then I looked at my son.

A few days earlier, I might have signed something simply because he had asked.

I might have believed he was trying to help.

But now I remembered Margaret’s phone call.

I remembered Vanessa’s comments.

And I remembered the way Caleb had looked when I revealed the rent payments.

I pushed the paper back toward him.

“I’m not signing anything today.”

His expression changed.

“Mom, it’s just a form.”

“Then you won’t mind if my attorney reviews it.”

He quickly folded the paper.

“Why do you need an attorney? I’m your son.”

I met his eyes.

“Exactly. You’re my son. You should understand why I want to protect what I have.”

For the first time since he arrived, he looked genuinely angry.

Then he said something that made the room feel suddenly very cold.

“Fine. But don’t be surprised if things get difficult when you start treating family like strangers.”

He picked up his jacket.

And as he walked toward the door, I noticed something sticking out of his coat pocket.

A second envelope.

It had the same law firm’s name printed across the top.

Harrison & Cole Estate Attorneys.

My heart stopped.

Because that was the same law firm I had called that morning.

And I had not told Caleb about my appointment.

I stood frozen in the kitchen, staring at the closed apartment door.

For several seconds, I couldn’t move.

The envelope Caleb had carried looked exactly like the one sitting on my kitchen table.

Harrison & Cole Estate Attorneys.

Why would my son have documents from the same law firm?

And why had he been so desperate for me to sign that financial authorization?

I waited until I heard his car pull away before reaching for my phone.

I called Mr. Harrison’s office again.

This time, I asked to speak directly with him.

“Mrs. Eleanor,” he answered warmly. “I was just about to have my assistant confirm your appointment.”

“Mr. Harrison, I need to ask you something. Has my son contacted your office recently?”

There was a pause.

“Yes,” he said carefully. “A gentleman named Caleb contacted us several weeks ago. He identified himself as your son.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“What did he want?”

“He asked about the possibility of becoming your financial representative. He said you had been struggling with certain administrative responsibilities.”

I closed my eyes.

“I haven’t been struggling with anything.”

“I understand. That’s why we did not proceed with his request.”

“Did he ask about my will?”

Another pause.

“Yes. He asked whether your existing estate documents could be changed to give him greater control over your assets.”

I felt my knees weaken.

“Did you tell him anything?”

“Only that we could not discuss your private legal affairs without your authorization.”

I thanked him and ended the call.

Then I sat at my kitchen table and cried.

Not because I was afraid of losing my money.

But because I was finally beginning to understand how little my son knew about the woman who had raised him.

He knew I would work until my hands hurt.

He knew I would sacrifice my comfort.

He knew I would send money whenever he asked.

But apparently, he also believed I was someone whose decisions could eventually be taken away from her.

And that hurt more than anything Vanessa had said at the party.

The following morning, I arrived at Harrison & Cole fifteen minutes early.

Mr. Harrison greeted me personally.

He was a kind man in his early sixties, with silver hair and a habit of listening without interrupting.

He invited me into his office and closed the door.

“Eleanor, before we discuss anything else, I want you to know that you have done nothing wrong by helping your son.”

I nodded.

“But I also want you to understand something. Financial assistance does not give someone ownership of your life.”

He opened my file.

“We have your original estate documents, your property information, and the instructions you provided during your last visit.”

He explained that no changes had been made to my will and that no one had been granted authority over my accounts.

Then he showed me the financial authorization Caleb had attempted to discuss with the office.

It was not the same document Caleb had brought to my apartment, but it was a draft of a proposed arrangement.

The document would have given Caleb broad authority to communicate with certain financial institutions and manage designated transactions if I signed it.

I stared at the pages.

“Why would he need this?”

Mr. Harrison folded his hands.

“I cannot tell you what your son’s intentions are. But I can tell you that you should never sign a financial document you do not fully understand.”

He recommended that I review my account security, update my financial records, and make sure my legal wishes were clearly documented.

I agreed.

Then I asked him a question I had been afraid to ask.

“Mr. Harrison, can I stop paying my son’s rent?”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART6…