“Nothing is going to go wrong. Trust me.”
He sat up in bed and hugged me.
“I always trust you, Grandma. You’re the strongest person I know.”
“And you are the reason I keep fighting,” I replied.
The next day, Linda came early. We checked the cameras one last time. Everything was working perfectly.
At 1:00 p.m., we took Ethan to Linda’s house. Her husband, a quiet and reliable man, stayed with him.
“Do not leave the house for any reason,” I told Ethan. “And keep your phone on.”
“Be careful, Grandma.”
“I always am.”
Linda and I returned to my apartment. She set up in my room with her laptop, headphones, and a professional recorder. I stayed in the living room, waiting.
At 2:55, the doorbell rang. I took a deep breath. I stood up, smoothed my gray blouse and dark skirt. I had chosen clothes that made me look older, more fragile.
I opened the door.
There they were. Chelsea in a beige office dress and high heels. Beside her, a man in his fifties, impeccable suit, briefcase in hand. Gerald Hayes—no doubt. And behind them, with an uncomfortable expression, was Rob.
“Come in,” I said softly. “I was expecting you.”
Chelsea entered first, looking at my house with barely disguised contempt. Gerald followed her, evaluating everything with a lawyer’s eyes. Rob entered last, without looking me in the eyes.
“Sit down, please,” I said.
I gestured to the couch and dining chairs. Chelsea sat on the main armchair as if she owned the place. Gerald next to her. Rob on a separate chair, as if wanting to disappear. I sat across from them.
And in that moment, with the cameras recording every second, the final game began.
“Thank you for coming,” I said. “I know this isn’t easy for any of us.”
Chelsea smiled—that predator’s smile I had seen so many times on criminals who thought they had won.
“Ah, Elellanena,” she said. “I always knew you’d eventually see reason.”
And so it began. The trap was set. The poison was served. Now it only remained to see if the serpent was arrogant enough to drink it.
What Chelsea and her accomplice said that afternoon, believing they had won, sealed their fate. Every word was a confession—every smile, more evidence of their guilt.
Gerald opened his briefcase and took out a folder of documents. He placed them on the coffee table with precise, calculated movements. He was a man of measured gestures, with slicked-back hair and gold-rimmed glasses that probably cost more than my three months’ rent.
“Mrs. Stone,” he began in a professional voice, “I understand that you wish to transfer the property located at Greenwich Village, 247, apartment 302, to your son, Robert Stone. Is that correct?”
“That’s right,” I replied, keeping my voice tired, resigned.
“Excellent. I have prepared the necessary documents. I just need you to review them and sign here, here, and here.”
He pointed to several lines with his expensive pen.
I took the papers. I pretended to read them carefully. In reality, I was observing everyone’s reactions. Rob looked at the floor, uncomfortable. Chelsea couldn’t hide the gleam of triumph in her eyes. Gerald maintained his professional mask, but I saw him exchange a quick glance with Chelsea.
“These documents,” I said slowly, “indicate that I transfer the property voluntarily, without receiving anything in return. Is that correct?”
“Correct,” Gerald replied. “It is a lifetime donation to your direct heir. Perfectly legal.”
“And what about Ethan?” I asked.
Chelsea leaned forward, crossing her legs.
“Dear Elellanena, let’s be realistic. Your grandson attacked an adult woman. That is a serious crime. I can’t just forget about it.”
“But you said—”
“I didn’t say anything,” she interrupted me with a cold smile. “You said you wanted to transfer the house. I simply agreed to come and witness this act of maternal generosity.”
The venom in her words was evident.
I looked at Rob.
