Chapter 3 - The Bombshell at Sunday Dinner
The following Sunday, Miriam decided to host a "family planning dinner"—which was code for a mandatory briefing on how they were going to spend Donald’s money.
She had set the dining table with her best china. Chloe had already printed out online listings of luxury townhomes in downtown Annapolis, circling properties priced around four hundred thousand dollars. Even Brody had shown up uninvited, wearing a cheap suit and a hopeful grin, clearly expecting a down payment check for his new sports car to be written on the spot.
Christopher and I sat quietly near the end of the table. Christopher was still quiet, mourning deeply, while I kept my hands folded in my lap, remaining entirely calm amidst the greedy chatter.
"Now, listen up everyone," Miriam announced, tapping her crystal wine glass with a silver fork to command attention. "I spoke with the probate clerk’s office this morning. The death certificate has cleared, which means we can officially file for the deed transfer of the Roland Park townhouse tomorrow morning. Once the title is in my name and Chloe’s, we’ll list it with my bridge club friend’s agency."
Chloe clapped her hands together in glee. "Oh, Mom, this is amazing! I’ve already scheduled a walkthrough for a three-bedroom condo near the harbor on Tuesday! We can use a portion of the equity as an immediate cash binder!"
Brody grinned, leaning across the table. "And Aunt Miriam, don't forget about the sedan upgrade we talked about. A nice little BMW coupe wouldn't hurt the family image when people ask where we got the cash."
Miriam waved her hand dismissively, basking in her self-proclaimed role as the matriarchal billionaire. "Yes, yes, Brody, we’ll look at standard vehicles after the closing. As for Christopher..." She turned her gaze down the table toward my husband, her expression softening into patronizing pity. "Chris, darling, I know you’re sad, but once Clara signs off on your individual share release—since her name isn't on the deed, thank goodness—you can buy her a nice little used car and move her into a decent rental. You’ll finally be rid of that cramped apartment."
Christopher finally looked up, his eyes flashing with a spark of long-suppressed anger. "Mom, Dad’s body isn't even cold for a week, and you’re already treating his entire life’s work like a garage sale. Did you even love him, or did you just love his address?"
Miriam gasped, clutching her pearls in theatrical horror. "How dare you speak to your mother that way! Your father would have wanted us to be comfortable! He worked for this family!"
"No, Mom," Christopher said, his voice hard. "Dad worked despite this family. Every time he saw you, you had your hand out. Every time he talked to Chloe, she wanted a handout. He told me before he died that he was exhausted by the entitlement in this house."
"Entitlement?!" Chloe shrieked, slamming her wine glass down, splashing red liquid across the white linen tablecloth. "We are his flesh and blood! We have every right to his estate! Who do you think you are, talking about entitlement when you've been freeloading in a tiny apartment for years?!"
Miriam stood up, pointing a trembling finger at Christopher. "You listen to me, young man! You will apologize to your sister this instant, and tomorrow morning, you and Clara will sign the quitclaim deed relinquishing any residual squatter rights to the townhouse, or I will cut you out of my life forever!"
The dining room fell into an absolute, suffocating dead silence. All eyes turned toward me.
Miriam smirked, crossing her arms over her chest, assuming I was trembling in fear. "Well, Clara? Do you have anything to say for yourself, or are you going to sit there looking like a mute while my son fixes this mess?"
I took a slow, deliberate sip of my water, set the glass down, and reached into my tote bag.
May you like
I pulled out the thick manila folder from Vance & Associates.
With agonizing slowness, I slid it across the mahogany table, right over the spilled red wine, until it stopped directly in front of Miriam’s wine glass.
