His pride was injured, but desperation has a way of holing through dignity. “There’s a promising opportunity I heard about…” I said carefully, sliding him the proposal. In truth, it was a scam I orchestrated through discreet contacts.
Legal, technically, but doomed to fail. He poured money into it. He lost all of it.
Responsible.
I nearly laughed. I offered to help her “restructure” their finances. What I actually did was guide their remaining assets into accounts I controlled under the guise of management fees, investment transfers, and legal adjustments.
They signed everything without reading. When Brenna’s marriage began unraveling under financial strain, she begged me for help. I offered her loans buried under predatory interest terms, perfectly legal, perfectly binding.
She signed, because she was desperate to maintain the lifestyle she’d always enjoyed. It didn’t take long. Six months.
Maybe seven. Then everything collapsed. The Alden house, the same one where I once slept, curled tightly in a borrowed bed, went into foreclosure.
Their cars disappeared overnight, repossessed. Their credit tanks. Their friends drifted away, unwilling to associate with people who no longer had wealth to flaunt.
Marcia came to me last. Her voice trembled. Her hair, once always perfectly coiffed, hung limp and dull.
Her hands twisted together as if she were attempting to wring the truth from her own skin. “Please, Lila,” she whispered. “We’ve always cared for you.
Please.”
For the first time in my life, I saw her truly afraid. And it felt like justice. I looked at her, the woman who had stolen from a grieving child, who had paraded my parents’ money in the form of handbags and vacations, who had scolded me for being “ungrateful” whenever I needed something essential.
“You’re right,” I said quietly, meeting her fearful gaze. “You always treated me like family.”
Her shoulders relaxed in relieved hope. “Exactly,” she whispered.
“And now,” I said softly, “I’m treating you the same way you treated me.”Continue reading…
