Chapter 5 - The Golden Child’s MeltdownBy 3:00 PM that afternoon, my phone began ringing again. Not from my mother this time, but from Chelsea.
I let it ring three times before tapping accept and putting it on speaker while I sat at my kitchen table, helping Dany color a picture of a dinosaur.
“Lucy! Are you insane?!” Chelsea’s voice shrieked through the speaker, so loud that Dany paused his crayon and looked up at me with wide, curious eyes. “I just tried to buy groceries at Whole Foods and my card was declined! The cashier looked at me like I was a criminal! Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?!”
“Did you say ‘humiliating’?” I asked calmly, keeping my voice steady as I handed Dany a green crayon. “That’s funny. My four-year-old son knows all about humiliation. You and Mom should take notes; it builds character.”
“Stop playing games!” Chelsea sobbed, the tough-girl act evaporating instantly under the pressure of real financial ruin. “Carter’s private academy called me an hour ago! His tuition check bounced! If he gets unenrolled, he’ll miss the entire semester! How could you do this to your own nephew? What did Carter ever do to you?”
“Carter didn’t do anything,” I replied, my tone chillingly flat. “He’s a child. Just like Dany is a child. The difference is, while you and Mom spent four years teaching Carter that he was a king and Dany was invisible, I spent four years teaching my son how to be resilient.”
“Mom is having a panic attack!” Chelsea screamed through the phone. “She’s lying on the living room floor hyperventilating! She’s threatening to call the police!”
“Go ahead,” I said lightly. “Tell the police that the legal executor of the family estate has frozen fraudulent accounts and initiated an asset audit. I’m sure the local precinct will find that fascinating reading material, especially the financial embezzlement records Aunt Colleen dug up from Mom’s personal safe.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. The screaming stopped instantly.
“What... what embezzlement records?” Chelsea whispered, her voice trembling.
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“Ask Mom when she catches her breath,” I said. “And Chelsea? Start packing your designer bags. You have twenty-nine days before the real estate agents list this house. You might actually have to get a job. Won’t that be a fun new adventure?”
I hung up before she could reply, blocking her number permanently.
