Chapter 7 - The Final Disclosure
"You put down a deposit, Stuart?" I asked softly, resting my folded hands over the Cedar Grove brochure. "How generous of you."
Jennifer adjusted her diamond ring, her eyes shining with triumphant arrogance. "It really was the best decision for everyone, Inz. We knew you’d eventually see reason once you had time to think about your limited options."
"My limited options," I repeated, letting the phrase linger in the quiet dining room.
Stuart pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and slid a set of legal power-of-attorney documents across the table toward me. "Sign here on the highlighted lines, Mom. This authorizes me to act as your legal representative for the estate sale and coordinate directly with Cedar Grove’s admissions board."
I looked down at the highlighted yellow lines on the paper.
"No, Stuart," I said quietly.
Stuart’s smile flickered. "Mom, don't start this again. We’ve already talked about this. You can't maintain this property on your pension."
"I don't need to maintain it anymore, Stuart," I said, reaching down beside my chair and picking up a thick manila folder I had placed on the floor earlier.
I laid the manila folder flat on the center of the table, right on top of his power-of-attorney paperwork.
"What is that?" Jennifer asked, her brows furrowing slightly.
"That is the completed closing file for the sale of this house," I replied smoothly.
The dining room went entirely still.
Stuart let out a short, nervous laugh. "What are you talking about? Closing file? For what?"
"I sold this house three weeks ago, Stuart," I stated, my voice clear, steady, and utterly devoid of hostility. "To an architect and his wife from Chicago. The closing took place on Friday morning. The proceeds—seven hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars—were deposited into my private trust account two days ago."
Jennifer’s face went instantly pale. "You... you sold the house?!"
"I did," I replied. "Full asking price. Cash."
Stuart stood up so fast his chair screeched loudly against the hardwood floorboards. "You can't sell this house! This is my inheritance! You had no right to list this property without consulting me!"
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I slowly stood up to face him, drawing myself to my full height, looking my forty-year-old son directly in his bloodshot, furious eyes.
"This house belonged to your father and me, Stuart," I said, every word dripping with cold, absolute authority. "It was never your inheritance. It was my home. And I have disposed of my asset as I saw fit."
