Chapter 4: The Mother Who Didn't Know
The line was very quiet for a moment.
"Mrs.
Diane," I said.
"Thank you for calling."
"I want to understand what I've read." Her voice was measured, but there was something underneath it — not anger at me.
Something more like controlled grief.
"Is all of this accurate?"
"Every figure in that letter comes directly from my business records," I said.
"I can send you the supporting documents if you'd like to see them."
"Sarah told us she was doing well there.
That you relied on her.
That the two of you had a good working relationship."
"I gave Sarah every opportunity to build something real," I said.
"She chose a different path."
A long pause.
"How much?" Diane asked.
"Total.
What did she take?"
I opened the folder on my desk.
"Charged to the business account without authorization — just under nine thousand dollars over twenty-two months.
That doesn't include the SUV payments I covered when Greg stopped, or the household expenses."
I heard Diane exhale slowly.
"She told us Greg was making those payments."
"Greg hasn't made a single one."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"I owe you an apology," Diane said finally.
"On her behalf, and on mine.
I should have asked more questions."
"You had no reason to doubt her."
"I had every reason," she said quietly.
"I just didn't want to see it."
The shop door opened behind me.
I turned.
Greg had arrived.
He was still in the clothes he'd slept in — dark joggers, a creased shirt.
His hair wasn't combed.
He looked like a man who had driven across town running on anger and very little else.
"I have to go," I said to Diane.
"But I'd like to speak with you again."
"So would I," she said.
"Beth — I'm sorry.
For all of it."
I set the phone down as Greg reached the counter.
He looked around the shop.
Sarah was still in the corner, her back to both of us, her phone pressed to her ear.
"Where are my house keys?" he said.
"The locks at the house were changed this morning as well."
His eyes came to mine.
"You changed the locks on your own house."
"My house," I said.
"Yes."
"Mom." He lowered his voice, leaned forward slightly.
"You need to stop.
You're making this into something it isn't."
"What is it, then?"
"A misunderstanding.
Sarah pushed too hard, I know that.
Sunday dinner got out of hand.
But you're blowing this up into something that's going to damage this family permanently."
"Greg," I said, "the family was already damaged.
I was the only one pretending otherwise."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm your son."
"I know who you are."
"Then act like it." His voice rose slightly.
Two customers near the window glanced over.
He noticed and brought it back down.
"You can't just throw us out.
We have rights.
You can't take a vehicle that Sarah has been driving for two years and hide it somewhere.
That's not legal."
"The title is in my name.
The insurance is in my name.
Every payment was made from my account." I kept my voice even.
"Speak to a lawyer if you'd like a second opinion."
"I already did." He straightened.
"This morning.
He says you have exposure here.
Emotional distress.
Wrongful termination.
You fired Sarah without notice."
"Sarah was an at-will employee.
The termination letter, which she received this morning, outlines the grounds." I reached under the counter and slid a second copy across to him.
"You're welcome to share that with your lawyer."
He didn't pick it up.
"You want to go to war with your own son."
"I want you to take responsibility," I said.
"That's all I have ever wanted."
Something shifted in his face.
Not softening — more like a door closing behind his eyes.
"Fine," he said.
The same word I had used the night before.
He meant it the same way he thought I had meant it — as surrender, as the end of the conversation.
He turned toward Sarah.
"Let's go."
Sarah lowered her phone.
She looked at Greg, then at me.
Her expression had changed since the phone call with her mother.
The fury was still there, but it was sitting differently now.
Less certain of itself.
She picked up her handbag.
At the door, Greg stopped.
"You'll regret this," he said.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just flat.
"I've spent three years regretting the opposite," I said.
He pushed the door open and walked out.
Sarah followed him.
She didn't look back.
I stood behind the counter and watched the rideshare pull away from the curb.
Then I picked up Greg's copy of the termination letter from the counter.
He hadn't taken it.
I set it back in the folder.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Clara.
*How did it go?*
I looked at the empty street outside.
*They left*, I typed back.
*Greg said I'll regret it.*
Three dots appeared.
Then Clara's reply.
*Does he know about the storage unit?*
I stared at that line for a moment.
The storage unit.
I had not told Greg about the storage unit.
May you like
But someone had — because thirty seconds later, my phone rang.
Greg's name on the screen.
