Chapter 5: The People Who Loved the Money
David didn’t answer immediately.
He just stared at the phone.
Oilia’s voice came faintly through the speaker.
“David? Are you there?””
He looked at me.
I nodded.
“Answer it.””
His hand shook slightly as he lifted the phone.
“What do you mean Mom has been lying?””
A pause.
Then Oilia started talking quickly.
Too quickly.
I recognized that tone.
The tone of someone building a story before anyone could question it.
“She knew about the rent increase,” Oilia said.
“She knew everything.””
David looked at me.
“That’s impossible.””
“It’s not,” Oilia replied.
“I found out.””
I sat quietly.
Listening.
“She owns Hastings, doesn’t she?””
David didn’t answer.
Because now he knew.
Oilia continued.
“She has been pretending to be helpless this whole time.””
My eyebrows lifted slightly.
Pretending.
That was an interesting choice of words.
“She let us struggle while she sat there with millions?””
David closed his eyes.
“Oilia…”
“No, David. Think about it.””
Her voice became emotional.
“She watched us pay bills. She watched us worry. She could have helped.””
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Because that was the most revealing thing she could have said.
Not once did she ask:
Why did Mabel hide this?
Why did she feel she had to?
Instead, she asked:
Why didn’t Mabel give us more?
“Where are you?”” David asked.
“At home.””
“I’m coming over.””
There was a pause.
Then Oilia lowered her voice.
“Don’t let her manipulate you.””
The call ended.
David sat there silently.
I watched him process everything.
“She thinks you’re manipulating me.””
“Yes.””
“Are you?””
The question hurt.
Not because he asked.
Because he needed to.
I looked directly at him.
“No.””
He nodded slowly.
“I don’t know what to think anymore.””
“That’s okay.””
He looked surprised.
“That’s okay?””
“Yes.””
I folded my hands.
“Because for years, you only knew the version of me that helped you.””
The words came quietly.
“You never knew the woman who survived.””
David looked away.
For the next hour, we sat in silence.
Not comfortable silence.
Not peaceful silence.
The kind where two people are standing in the ruins of something and deciding whether to rebuild.
Eventually, David stood.
“I need to go.””
I nodded.
“I know.””
He walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Mom?””
“Yes?””
“I’m sorry.””
Two words.
Simple.
But I had waited years to hear them.
I looked at him.
“Thank you.””
He opened the door.
Then paused again.
“I don’t know what happens next.””
“Neither do I.””
He left.
That evening, I expected the loneliness to hurt.
It didn’t.
Instead, I felt something strange.
Relief.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t carrying a secret alone.
The next morning, I arrived at my office.
Not the office David imagined.
Not some glamorous executive suite.
A simple building downtown with employees who respected me.
People who knew my name.
People who knew what I had built.
My assistant, Claire, looked up when I entered.
“Good morning, Ms. Hastings.””
“Morning, Claire.””
She followed me into my office.
“You look tired.””
“I had a difficult conversation with my son.””
She hesitated.
“Is everything okay?””
I placed my bag down.
“Everything is finally honest.””
Claire smiled softly.
“You’ve waited a long time for that.””
“Yes.””
Before I could sit, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?””
A man’s voice spoke.
“Mrs. Hastings?””
“Yes.””
“This is Robert Bell from legal services.””
I frowned.
“Legal services?””
“Yes.””
He paused.
“I’m calling about Richard Hastings.””
My stomach tightened.
“What about him?””
“He filed a claim this morning.””
I walked toward the window.
“What kind of claim?””
Another pause.
Then:
“He is attempting to challenge your ownership of Hastings Property Management.””
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Richard didn’t come back because he missed his son.
He came back because he saw something valuable.
“What evidence does he have?””
“That’s the strange part.””
“What do you mean?””
Robert lowered his voice.
“He submitted documents claiming you transferred ownership to him twenty-eight years ago.””
I stared outside at the city.
A city I had spent decades building my life in.
“He forged them.””
“I suspected that.””
“But there’s more.””
I turned.
“What?””
Robert hesitated.
“There’s a witness.””
My heart slowed.
“A witness to what?””
“A witness who claims you admitted Richard was the true owner.””
I gripped the phone.
“Who?””
Silence.
Then Robert answered.
And the name he gave me made my blood run cold.
Because it was someone I never expected.
Someone who had been standing beside me all these years.
May you like
“Mrs. Hastings,” he said quietly.
“The witness is your son, David.””
