Ethan came out of the room at that moment, disheveled and with swollen eyes. Seeing us, he stopped.
“What’s going on?”
I explained the plan to him. I watched his face go from fear to concern, and finally to determination.
“What do I do?” he asked.
“You stay at Linda’s house that day. I don’t want you here when they come. It’s too dangerous.”
“But Grandma—”
“It’s not negotiable, Ethan. I need to know you are safe so I can concentrate on this.”
He didn’t argue further. He knew that when I used that tone, there was no turning back.
We spent the rest of the day preparing everything. Linda got four professional spy cameras. We installed them in strategic locations: one in the living room bookshelf, another in the dining room wall clock, a third on the kitchen shelf, and the last one in my floor lamp. From the room, Linda could see and record everything on her laptop.
I also prepared my house to look vulnerable. I left hospital bills on the dining table—fake ones prepared by Linda. I put medicine bottles in the kitchen. I wanted Chelsea to think I was sick, weak, desperate.
The next morning, I picked up my phone. My hands were shaking slightly as I dialed Rob’s number. He answered on the fourth ring.
“What do you want now, Mom?”
“I need to speak with Chelsea. It’s important.”
Silence. Then the sound of footsteps. Rob passed the phone to his wife.
“Elellanena,” Chelsea’s voice sounded cautious, almost amused. “What a surprise.”
“We need to talk about the house, about Ethan, about everything,” I said.
“We have nothing to talk about,” she replied.
“Please,” I said, letting my voice sound tired, defeated. “I’m tired of fighting. I just want my grandson to be safe and my son to be happy. If that means giving in, then that’s what I’ll do.”
There was a long silence. I could imagine Chelsea smiling on the other end.
“Giving in in what sense exactly?” she asked.
“The house,” I said. “I know Rob will eventually inherit it, but I’ve been sick lately. My heart isn’t well. The doctors say it could be a matter of months, maybe a year. I don’t want to die knowing I left a legal problem for my son.”
“How thoughtful of you,” she said, the sarcasm in her voice evident. “What are you suggesting?”
“I am willing to sign documents transferring the property to Rob’s name now. But with one condition: that you leave Ethan alone. That you drop the charges. That you allow him to live with me for the rest of my life.”
Another silence. I could hear voices in the background. Chelsea was consulting with someone—probably Gerald.
“When do you want to do this?” she asked.
“Tomorrow. 3:00 p.m. At my house. Bring your lawyer if you want. I want everything to be legal and final.”
“Why the sudden change of heart, Elellanena?”
“Because I’m tired. Because I no longer have the strength to fight. And because at the end of the day, my son chose—and he didn’t choose me.”
Those last words hurt to say because they were true.
“Tomorrow at three, then,” Chelsea said. “And I hope you’re not playing games with me, old lady. Because if you are, I promise you’ll regret it.”
“I’m not playing games. I just want peace.”
She hung up.
I was left staring at the phone, my heart pounding furiously. Linda placed a hand on my shoulder.
“You did very well, Commander. You sounded convincing.”
“It’s because part of it is true,” I admitted. “I am tired. And Rob did choose her over me. But we are not going to let her win.”
“No,” Linda said. “We are going to make sure she loses everything.”
We spent the rest of the day going over every detail of the plan. Where I would sit. Where they would sit. What questions to ask to make them talk. How to subtly provoke them so they felt secure.
That night, before sleeping, I went into Ethan’s room. He was lying down, looking at the ceiling.
“Nervous, Grandma?” he asked.
“A little,” I said. “But more than nervous, I’m angry. And that anger is what’s going to give me strength tomorrow.”
“What if something goes wrong?”
