PART5
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You thought?”
“Yes. We were trying to plan for the future.”
“Whose future, Ben?”
He became irritated.
“You always make everything sound terrible.”
“No, Ben. I am simply asking why you were making plans involving my property without asking me.”
He lowered his voice.
“Sloane thought you’d eventually understand.”
I nearly laughed.
“Your fiancée thought I would eventually understand that my own home belonged in your financial plans?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then tell me what you said.”
He ended the call.
I sat at the kitchen table for a long time.
The same table where I’d helped him with homework, celebrated his graduation, and listened to him talk about becoming a man who would always protect his family.
I wondered when that little boy had disappeared.
Or whether I had simply refused to see the man he had become.
Three days later, I received an unexpected visitor.
Sloane’s mother, Patricia.
She arrived carrying a small handbag and wearing an expression that suggested she was coming to settle a disagreement between children.
I invited her inside.
She glanced around my living room.
“Margaret, I think this situation has gone too far.”
I didn’t offer her tea.
“What situation?”
“The wedding. Ben is devastated. Sloane hasn’t stopped crying.”
I looked at her calmly.
“I’m sorry they’re upset.”
Patricia seemed surprised by my answer.
“Then perhaps you can reconsider.”
“Reconsider what?”
“Paying for the wedding. You know how important this is to them.”
I sat down.
“Patricia, may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Did Sloane tell you that I had agreed to give them $150,000?”
Her expression changed.
“She mentioned that you were helping them.”
“I helped them with a $94,000 wedding. I never promised a house deposit.”
Patricia looked down at her handbag.
“And did she tell you that someone requested a valuation of my home without my permission?”
Patricia’s eyes widened.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Did she tell you that the shared wedding account had been used for personal expenses?”
Patricia didn’t answer.
I leaned forward.
“Patricia, I am not asking you to defend your daughter. I’m asking whether you know what has been happening.”
She remained silent for several seconds.
Then she said something I wasn’t expecting.
“Margaret, Sloane told us you had become increasingly difficult to deal with. She said Ben was worried about your memory and that he was trying to help you manage your affairs.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“Did you believe her?”
“I didn’t know what to believe.”
I looked at her.
“Then perhaps you should look at the evidence before deciding who is telling the truth.”
I showed her the bank statements and the property valuation request.
She read them slowly.
By the time she finished, her hands were trembling.
“Oh, my goodness.”
“What is it?”
She looked at me.
“There’s something I think you should know.”
She opened her handbag and removed her phone.
“Last month, Sloane asked her father and me to contribute $20,000 toward the wedding. We refused because we couldn’t afford it. But she told us not to worry because you had already agreed to cover everything.”
I nodded.
“Apparently, that wasn’t enough.”
Patricia swallowed.
“Yesterday, she called me asking for another $15,000. She said the wedding was still happening and that you were simply having a disagreement with Ben.”
I stared at her.
“Yesterday?”
Patricia looked horrified.
“She told us you were going to reverse it.”
For the first time, I realized that Ben and Sloane were telling different stories to different people.
They were trying to keep everyone believing that the money would eventually arrive.
And they weren’t finished.
That evening, I received an email from an unfamiliar address.
The subject line read:
Please don’t ignore this.
I opened it.
The sender was one of Sloane’s former bridesmaids, a young woman named Emily.
Her message was short.
Mrs. Whitfield, I’m sorry to contact you like this, but I think you deserve to know what Sloane has been saying about you.
Attached were several screenshots from a private group conversation.
I hesitated before opening them.
The first message was from Sloane.
Once the wedding is over, Ben and I can finally get Margaret to help us with the house. She’s already paid for everything, so she won’t want to lose her relationship with Ben.
Then came a message that made my blood run cold.
Honestly, she won’t need that big house forever. We just need to get the paperwork started before she changes her mind.
I scrolled further.
One of the bridesmaids had asked whether Ben knew about the plan.
Sloane’s answer was:
He knows enough. He’s just uncomfortable talking about it.
I read that sentence several times.
Ben knew.
Perhaps not every detail, but enough.
I closed the screenshots and called Emily.
She answered almost immediately.
“Mrs. Whitfield?”
“Thank you for sending these. May I ask why you’re doing this?”
There was a pause.
“Because what happened at your house that Sunday was wrong. I was there when Sloane asked you to remove the photograph of your husband. I should have said something.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I know. But I also heard them talking about your money. I didn’t realize how serious it was until now.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
Then I forwarded everything to Helen.
The next morning, Helen called me.
“Margaret, we need to meet. There’s another development.”
“What happened?”
“The brokerage has provided additional correspondence. It appears Ben and Sloane were discussing a possible purchase of another property using the anticipated proceeds from selling yours.”
I sat down.
“Did they have permission to do that?”
“No.”
“Then what happens now?”
“We continue documenting everything. We will also consider the appropriate legal steps concerning the disputed authorization and the money taken from the account.”
I looked toward the garden.
Arthur had planted the roses himself. Some were older than Ben.
For years, I’d imagined passing this home down to my son.
Now I wasn’t sure he deserved even the smallest piece of it.
Two days later, Ben appeared again.
This time, he came alone.
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