“Because if I hear your reaction before I understand what happened, it may influence mine.”
He was silent.
That sentence was something I had taught him.
He recognized it.
Then:
“Is it about me?”
“Yes.”
“About the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“About the money?”
My eyes closed.
There it was.
“How do you know?”
Another pause.
“I don’t.”
“You just asked.”
“I know.”
I stared at the phone.
“What have you not told me?”
He exhaled.
“Nothing certain.”
“Try uncertainty.”
He was quiet for a long time.
Then:
“She’s been asking about when the gift becomes legally ours.”
I sat slowly.
“How often?”
“More recently.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she’s my fiancée.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I thought wedding planning was making her anxious.”
“About the house?”
“About everything.”
He hesitated.
“She asked whether you could change your mind after we married.”
The room seemed colder.
“What did you say?”
“That it was your gift.”
“That you could change your mind until the documents were final.”
“What was her reaction?”
Silence.
“Son.”
“She got angry.”
My stomach dropped.
“At you?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That you enjoyed keeping financial control.”
I stared at the note.
Controlling mother.
Same framing.
“Anything else?”
“She said once the transfer cleared, we wouldn’t have to keep organizing our life around what you might think.”
My fingers tightened around the paper.
He continued quickly.
“I defended you.”
“That’s not what matters.”
“It matters to me.”
I breathed.
“Did you stop the transfer?”
He asked.
That surprised me.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Five minutes ago.”
He exhaled.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Mom…”
His voice changed.
“I called your attorney last night.”
I stood again.
“What?”
“I asked what would happen if I requested a temporary hold.”
My anger paused.
“Why?”
“Because I had a bad feeling.”
“Based on what?”
“Her sister’s text.”
“And the questions about the money.”
I closed my eyes.
“So the transfer was already frozen?”
“Not yet.”
“The attorney said only you could stop the gift because the assets are yours.”
“That is correct.”
“I was going to ask you after the ceremony if nothing happened.”
I almost laughed.
“That logic is terrible.”
“I know.”
“You were going to get married first and discuss twenty-two million afterward?”
“When you say it like that—”
“There is no better way to say it.”
For the first time that morning, I smiled.
Only briefly.
Then my son said:
“Mom, I’m coming upstairs.”
“No.”
“I need to see you.”
“Later.”
“Why are you protecting the wedding?”
“I’m not.”
“What are you protecting?”
I looked at the note.
“The truth.”
He said nothing.
“I need you to do something.”
“What?”
“Find her sister.”
“I’ve been trying.”
“Do not confront your fiancée.”