Her words hurt me, but deep down I knew she was right.
Samantha took a notepad and started asking specific questions.
“Do you have any documents regarding the sale of your house?”
“Yes,” I said. “I have copies.”
“Do you have proof that you gave the money to Jason?”
“I made a bank transfer, so yes.”
“Did he make you sign anything when you moved in with them? Any agreement, contract?”
“No. Nothing.”
Everything had been verbal. Promises in the air that now vanished like smoke.
Samantha nodded while writing.
“Good. I need you to bring me all those documents. I also need you to start documenting everything they make you do in that house. Schedules, chores, any humiliating comments. Take photos of the room where you sleep. Record conversations if you can do it without being discovered.”
I looked at her, scared.
“Recording? Is that not illegal?”
She shook her head.
“In this state, you can record conversations in which you participate. It is legal and can be important evidence.”
I left that office feeling two contradictory things. Hope and terror. Hope because finally someone was taking me seriously. Terror because I was about to do something that would change everything forever.
During the next three weeks, I became a spy in my own life. I carried my phone in my apron pocket, always recording. I documented every list Victoria left me. I took photos of my room, of the chores I did, of the clock marking the hours I spent cleaning, cooking, serving. I heard conversations that broke my soul.
One night, I recorded Victoria talking on the phone with her mother.
“Yes, Mom. I have her here doing all the housework. She is perfect. She does not complain, and I do not have to pay her anything. Besides, with the three hundred thousand she gave us, Jason already invested in that business I told you about. If it goes well, we will be able to buy the house in the gated community we always wanted.”
My blood froze. The money was not saved for a house where I would live with them. It was invested in a business I knew nothing about. Everything had been a lie from the beginning.
I took all the evidence to Samantha. She spent over two hours reviewing the documents, listening to the recordings, looking at the photos. When she finished, she looked up with a serious expression.
“Margaret, this is worse than I thought. Your daughter-in-law scammed you, and your son is an accomplice, whether consciously or unconsciously. Legally, that money was yours. They promised you decent housing in exchange, and they have you practically as an unpaid domestic servant. Furthermore, there are indications that they might have used your money for purposes they did not consult you on, and that do not benefit you.”
I felt tears starting to well up.
“What can I do?”
Samantha took my hands.
“We can do several things. First, I can send them a legal letter demanding they return the money or fulfill what was promised adequately. Second, we can initiate a legal process for elder financial abuse. Third, and this is important, you need to get out of that house. It is not safe for you, neither physically nor emotionally.”
I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere.
“I want them to pay,” I said, with a voice I did not recognize as mine. “I want them to feel even a fraction of what they made me feel.”
Samantha smiled, and there was something of admiration in that smile.
“Then we are going to need a more elaborate plan.”
Samantha explained that she had a colleague, a private investigator who specialized in financial fraud cases.
“His name is Robert,” she told me, “and he is very good at what he does. If there is something shady in Victoria and Jason’s finances, he will find it.”
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