Chapter 2 - The Notary and the TrapThe very next morning, I began acting like the most heartless husband imaginable. In front of Estelle and Fiona, I pretended to feel thoroughly ashamed of Bethany's physical appearance. I openly criticized her looks, ordered her straight back into the kitchen, and declared plainly that once I received my four hundred thousand dollars, I'd genuinely consider filing for divorce.
Every single word burned straight through my own soul to actually say aloud, but the performance worked flawlessly regardless, because they immediately stopped guarding their behavior around me entirely.
That same afternoon, my mother accidentally left her phone unlocked, sitting on top of the refrigerator. I tried Fiona's own birthdate as the passcode, and the home screen unlocked instantly.
I discovered investment accounts totaling seventy thousand dollars, transfer records used to purchase my sister's brand-new truck, and heavy mortgage payments made just days after each of my own wire transfers arrived. I took clear photographs of every single document displayed on that screen.
I also found text messages where Fiona begged for money to buy designer clothes, expensive dinners, and truck payments — to which my mother routinely replied, Don't worry at all, dear, your brother's depositing more on Friday. For them, my own grueling labor had apparently stopped being helpful support long ago, becoming instead an endless source of free cash they genuinely believed they fully controlled.
Two days later, Fiona decided to celebrate her own birthday with a large group of wealthy friends visiting from Ridgeport. My mother forced Bethany to spend the entire day cooking smoked pork, roasted chicken, side salads, and three massive pots of beef stew.
When one party guest casually asked who the frail woman working the kitchen actually was, Fiona laughed out loud. "Oh, she's just my sister-in-law," Fiona declared mockingly. "My brother's genuinely tired of supporting her lazy existence."
Bethany suddenly collapsed right beside the kitchen sink from sheer exhaustion. While I carried her fragile body toward the bed, I secretly recorded the cruel laughter, the insults, and my own mother stating aloud that a sick woman was only ever useful for getting in everyone else's way.
That evening, I finally cast my last piece of bait. I explained plainly that my firm up in the north strictly required proof of assets held exclusively under my own name within seventy-two hours. Otherwise, my massive payout would be permanently frozen entirely, thanks to an incoming tax audit.
My mother hesitated briefly at first, but Fiona, utterly obsessed with opening her dream spa, pressured her aggressively until she finally agreed.
The very next morning, we all drove together to a local notary office. Fiona willingly signed an official deed of gift, transferring the house back into my own name, since it had originally been placed under hers. My mother signed the official authorization forms transferring every investment account directly into my own primary bank account. Every single detail was clearly explained aloud by the notary, thoroughly reviewed, and signed entirely on a purely voluntary basis.
"Once the four hundred thousand finally lands in your account, we'll split it evenly, right?" Fiona asked, daydreaming happily aloud about her own lavish future.
At three o'clock the following morning, I quietly moved Bethany out of that entire toxic house. I drove her straight to a specialized oncology hospital in Ridgeport, where doctors confirmed her tumor was still genuinely treatable, though her severe malnutrition placed any immediate surgery at extreme risk regardless. Medical staff admitted her instantly, working to stabilize her vital signs and nourish her body properly.
I then legally completed the financial transfers and canceled the secondary credit card Fiona had been freely using all along. That same afternoon, Fiona attempted purchasing a highly expensive diamond ring at a shopping mall. The transaction was abruptly declined, right in front of her wealthy fiancé, Gavin.
Gavin called my phone twenty separate times in a row. I didn't answer a single one of them.
At nightfall, I returned to the house accompanied by a licensed lawyer, the notary, and two local police officers, brought along purely to keep the peace and prevent any physical confrontation. My mother sat in the living room surrounded by printed bank statements, while Fiona's makeup sat smeared with tears, her expensive dress thoroughly wrinkled.
"You robbed us!" Estelle screamed hysterically the instant I walked through the front door. "Give me back my house and my money, right now!"
I calmly opened my leather folder and laid the property deeds, bank transfer statements, Bethany's official medical reports, and the birthday party recording flat across the glass table.
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Then I pressed play on my own phone.
And before that very first video clip even finished playing, my mother understood clearly that the actual truth had only just begun surfacing.
