Scamming The Scammer My Mother’s Final Stand

My mother came to me privately and asked me to sell her house.

Your father is having some business difficulties, she said. I want to give him a little support.

The house was the only asset my grandmother had left hera small, solid harbor meant solely for my mother.

Now, for my father, she was throwing her harbor onto the market at a steep discount.

A buyer contacted me quickly.

The womans voice was warm and overly friendly.

Hello, could you possibly hold the property for me? My partner wants to gift it to me next week for my birthday.

I glanced at the photo on her phone screen, the one she had up with her partner, and I froze.

It was my dad.

I managed a bright, professional smile, nodding at the woman.

Of course. I look forward to meeting your partner next month at the closing.

01

After our conversation, I made sure to confirm the buyers information again and again.

Just so I can reserve the property, may I please take down the full name and a contact number for the purchasing party?

It wasnt until I saw the formsthe name, the ID, everything matching my fathersthat the cold truth settled like a lead weight in my stomach. It really was him.

The woman handed the paperwork back, her smile wide and self-satisfied.

Such a sweet girl. I hope you find a man who cherishes you as much as mine cherishes me someday.

She leaned in conspiratorially. Next week is my thirty-fifth birthday. He told me hed get me anything I wanted, no limits. This little condo is older, sure, but the location is downtown. A quick renovation, just the two of us, and itll be perfect!

Her kind words were a shard of glass in my chest.

My grandmothers last gift to my motherher safe harborwas being sold off at a loss so my father could turn it into a present for his mistress.

I fought down the nausea, forcing myself to test the waters.

What if what if your partner cant come up with the full amount? I tried to sound apologetic. I dont mean anything by it, but buying property is a huge deal. It would be a nightmare if the deal fell through later

She threw her head back and laughed, as if Id told the funniest joke in the world.

If he cant scrape together a two-million-dollar down payment, why would I bother with him? She lowered her voice to a proud whisper. Im not afraid to tell you, sweetheart, a few of his companys new projects have hit the jackpot recently.

She shook her wrist, flashing a Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet.

See this? she said, preening. He just picked this up for me last weekend. On a whim.

I stared at the bracelet, the hatred a bitter heat on my tongue.

Your partner is so romantic, I choked out, my voice tight. When my mom had her birthday, my dad just gave her a thermos he got from a grocery store promotion.

The woman raised a perfectly sculpted brow, smugness radiating off her.

Men, honey, they know whos worth spending money on.

She ran a finger over the bracelet. Last week, I mentioned I was craving Japanese. He immediately booked a table at that placetwo hundred dollars a head. Has your mom ever been anywhere like that?

My stomach twisted. I remembered last month, my mothers birthday, when my father had claimed to be too busy with work and told her to just make herself a bowl of noodles.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, swallowing the screaming questions that wanted to burst out.

He sounds incredibly thoughtful, I managed, pasting my real estate agents smile back on. Ill get the documents ready for next weeks contract signing, then.

She tossed her hair back, pleased. Her phone buzzed with a message alert.

She glanced down, a bright curve to her lips. Ugh, hes rushing me. He wants me to test drive. He insists on replacing my old car with a new Porsche; says the old one doesn't suit me anymore.

She deliberately flashed the screen at me. The chat name on the lock screen read Hubby, and the last message was a pinned location for a luxury dealership.

My nails dug crescent moons into my palms.

Yesterday, my mom had asked him to take her to get her commuter scooter repaired. Hed told her he was locked in with an important client.

She swayed her hips as she left, leaving a heavy, cloying cloud of expensive perfume behind.

Before she disappeared, I used the excuse of needing an easy channel for closing details to add the woman, Vanessa, on WeChat.

That evening, Vanessas social media updated.

[Test drive surprise! Someone special said white matches my new dress.]

The photo showed my father, Mitchell, holding open a car door, beaming, the dealership logo visible behind him.

I scrolled down.

Last Wednesday: [Midnight feeding]

My dad, in a pristine apron, cooking a lavish seafood feast in what looked like a custom kitchen.

When my mother's arthritis flared up and she couldnt stand to cook, he told her to eat instant noodles and manage.

Last Sunday: [Gift haul unboxing]

A sofa piled high with designer shopping bags.

The family account ledger from that same week showed he had refused my moms request for a new refrigerator.

In every photo, my fathers smile was indulgent and doting, a completely different man from the one who sighed and complained about "tough times" at home.

I screenshotted every image, saving the evidence.

My phone vibrated with an incoming call. It was my father.

Sasha, any progress on the house? His voice sounded weary, stressed. Your mothers been nagging. Try to talk some sense into her.

I stared at the screenshot of him, arm-in-arm with his mistress, test driving a luxury car.

Dad, I said softly, what time are you coming home today? Mom made braised pork.

He paused.

Cant. Client dinner. Gotta schmooze. He sighed, heavily. Business is just so difficult these days.

The call ended.

I pulled up my mother's recently posted social media update.

It was a photo of her standing next to our old, yellowed refrigerator. The caption read:

[Suddenly stopped cooling. The meat smells a little off. Any suggestions for salvaging it, ladies?]

The first comment was from my father.

[Dont waste it. Boil it longer, you can still eat it.]

I saved the last screenshot, locked my phone, and put it away.

Next week, on the day of the signing, I would be presenting him with a substantial birthday gift of my own.

02

When I pushed open the door, my mother, Eleanor, was crouched in the kitchen, scrubbing the floor.

The water she wrung from the mop was grey with soapy residue, and her fingers were red and chapped from the cold water. Her sleeve was stained with the dark residue of the herbal medicine shed boiled this morning.

Mom. My voice was rough. Stop scrubbing. Did you get the fridge fixed?

She looked up, forcing a smile. Your dad said we need to hold out a little longer. Well replace it once business picks up.

I stared at her split, cracked fingernails, a sharp, cold pang gripping my heart.

Last year, when my dad was dealing with a flare-up of his rheumatism, she had shelled walnuts by hand to crush into his medicine, tearing off half a nail in the process.

All he had said was that women were just too delicate. And she, my sweet, loyal mother, had actually started blaming herself for being too fragile.

How did the house talk go? She steadied herself on the counter, clutching her lower back. Your dad was coughing all night. I need to get that money together quickly

I cut her off. I held out my phone.

Just look at this first.

Confused, she took the phone. Her fingers slid across the screen, bringing up Vanessas feed.

The posts rolled past: Mitch smiling next to the Porsche [Test drive surprise]; Mitch in the kitchen making an elaborate seafood dinner [Midnight feeding]; and the most recent, most galling post:

[Someone special said my bracelet was too plain, didn't match my new dress.]

The accompanying image was the Van Cleef & Arpels counter, a sales associate packaging a matching necklace.

I checked the price, I said, my voice low and hard. Even the cheapest version of that necklace is over eight thousand dollars.

Th-this is? My mothers hands were shaking.

This is the client who came to view the house today. Guess whos buying it for her? My dad.

I watched her face as I explained, my words cutting through the air.

He cries poverty to us, Mom, but hes pouring money into her.

Impossible Her lips trembled. Your dad said money was so tight he even had to cut my prescription coverage for a few months

I pulled up the bank transfer screenshots.

Tight? I pointed at the large, frequent transfers to Vanessa. Eighty thousand dollars sent over three months. The notes all say wellness investment.

She suddenly stumbled toward the bedroom, returning with a rusted metal box.

It was stuffed with yellowing receipts: my dads physical therapy bills, his vitamin subscriptions, his supplements. On every one, shed written in her delicate script: Mitchs health is paramount. The irony was staggering.

At the very bottom was a photocopy of my grandmothers will: Property bequeathed to Eleanor. May it be a place of shelter and refuge.

My mother looked at the receipts, then the will, and the tears finally burst through.

How how could he do this to me? she choked out.

It wasn't enough to take my money, to take my lifehe wanted to steal my last anchor, too!

Your grandmother warned me again and again She sobbed, caressing the copy of the will. This house, Sasha, this was my root.

I picked up a recent receipt. Last week, Mitch took five hundred dollars for holistic supplements. That same week, Vanessas social media showed a new designer handbag.

Look closely, Mom, I said, holding up the phone to the receipt. His supplements are what shes wearing.

She suddenly snatched the phone, swiping furiously.

Every photo of Vanessa's boasting was a lash across her face. Mitch cooking, Mitch jewelry shopping, Mitch test-driving a new car.

When I was in the hospital last year for my surgery She stared at his adoring smile in one photo. He said the hospital signal was bad he was busy being her personal chef

Tears splashed onto the screen, and then, slowly, a soundless laugh broke from her.

No wonder he always complained my medicine tasted bitter

She grabbed the stack of receipts and hurled them against the wall. Using my lifes savings to bankroll that little tramp!

In the flurry of falling paper, her bent back slowly, painfully, straightened.

Sasha. She wiped her eyes, her voice now flat and cold.

Next week, for the contract signing, Im coming with you.

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