Chapter 8 - The Checkmate
Inside my house, the quiet was overwhelming, but it was peaceful.
Marisol, who had agreed to become my private home nurse, was waiting in the foyer.
“Welcome home, Miranda,” she smiled gently.
“Thank you, Marisol,” I breathed, feeling truly safe for the first time in weeks.
Julian helped me into the living room, setting his briefcase on the coffee table.
“There’s one final piece of business,” Julian said, pulling out a thick folder.
“The foundation?” I asked, accepting a glass of water from Marisol.
“Yes. Because you removed your parents from the board, we need to reassign the funds.”
My parents had used my charitable foundation as a personal social club.
They threw lavish galas and took credit for my donations.
“I want to restructure it,” I told Julian.
“What do you have in mind?”
“I want to create a grant program for victims of negligent caretakers,” I said.
Julian paused, a rare look of surprise on his face.
“Financial abuse, elder abuse, familial neglect,” I listed off.
“That’s incredibly specific,” he noted, his lips twitching into a smile.
“And incredibly necessary,” I added.
“It will essentially be a public monument to their failure,” Julian pointed out.
“I prefer to think of it as a monument to my survival,” I corrected him.
He handed me the charter documents.
I signed my name with a steady hand, feeling the weight of the last thirty years lift off my shoulders.
My phone buzzed on the table.
It was an article from a local gossip blog.
“Local Tech Heiress Evicts Parents; Sister's Husband Files Bankruptcy.”
Greg’s crypto company had finally collapsed completely without my silent funding.
Lauren was going to have to sell her massive suburban house.
My parents were moving into a small apartment they could barely afford.
I turned the phone over, placing it face down on the table.
“Everything okay?” Marisol asked, noticing my blank expression.
“Everything is perfect,” I said.
May you like
I wasn't angry anymore.
I just didn't care.
