My personal assets exceeded six million dollars.
I had never hidden my success.
Daniel simply never cared enough to ask exactly what I owned.
He only noticed that I didn’t flaunt it.
The following morning, Patricia handed me a handwritten chore schedule.
“I expect improvement.”
I folded the paper.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from my attorney.
Four words.
The trustees are moving forward.
I looked at Patricia.
“Absolutely.”
She smiled.
I smiled back.
“For once, we’re going to clean everything.”
Three days later, Patricia hosted a luncheon for members of the Whitmore Foundation board.
She wore diamonds before noon and spoke endlessly about “family legacy.”
I served tea.
She enjoyed that more than she should have.
What she didn’t enjoy was the doorbell.
A gray-haired man entered with two attorneys behind him.
Patricia froze.
“Robert?”
Robert Hale
