CHAPTER 5: THE UNEXPECTED VISIT
Three weeks after my birthday dinner, the autumn leaves had turned a brilliant amber and gold, blanketing the front lawn in a crackling carpet of color. I was sitting on the front porch with a mug of chamomile tea, reading a library book Thomas would have loved.
A sleek silver SUV pulled into my driveway, tires crunching loudly against the gravel path before coming to an abrupt halt near the garage. Daniel stepped out of the driver's side door, slamming it shut with a nervous energy that immediately telegraphed his underlying tension.
He didn't walk up the steps with the casual ease of a visiting son; he marched straight toward the porch with a clipboard clutched tightly in his hand. His hair was slightly disheveled, and the expensive designer jacket he wore looked wrinkled, as if he had slept in it during a red-eye flight.
"Mom, why didn't you answer my calls all week?" Daniel demanded without even offering a hello or a birthday hug. I didn't flinch, nor did I put my teacup down; I simply looked at him over the rim of my glasses with cool, level indifference.
"Hello, Daniel," I said evenly, my voice lacking the warm, eager inflection he was accustomed to hearing from me. "I've been busy. What brings you all the way from Seattle on a Tuesday morning?"
Daniel rubbed the back of his neck, pacing back and forth across the wooden porch boards like a lawyer preparing for a difficult cross-examination. "The bank flagged my mortgage application for the new house, and they said our family trust line of credit was completely frozen," he blurted out angrily.
I took a slow sip of my tea, letting the silence stretch between us until his nervous pacing finally ground to a halt. "The line wasn't frozen by accident, Daniel," I replied quietly. "I instructed Arthur Vance to close it permanently."
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Daniel stared at me as if I had spoken in a foreign language, his eyes widening in absolute disbelief and rising panic. "Close it? Mom, what are you talking about? We're counting on those funds to close escrow on the kids' new school district house!" he shouted.
"Then I suggest you start counting on your own salary, because my retirement fund is no longer subsidizing your lifestyle," I said, my tone as hard and unyielding as granite. The realization crashed over him like a cold wave, stripping away his arrogant composure and leaving behind pure, unadulterated shock.
