“Fine. But we’re not giving up on this. That money belongs to this family, and one way or another, we’re going to make sure it stays in this family.”
Now, a younger woman might have been intimidated by that threat. But at sixty-eight, after forty-five years of dealing with everything from loan officers to livestock, I was not about to be bullied by my own son.
“Derek,” I said, my voice calm as ice, “you just threatened your mother in her own kitchen over money you never earned. I suggest you think very carefully about your next move.”
The look in Derek’s eyes when he realized I was not going to fold told me everything I needed to know. This was not the little boy who used to help me collect eggs. This was a stranger who had decided that $850,000 was worth more than his relationship with his mother.
“We’ll see about that,” he said, grabbing Tiffany’s arm and heading for the door.
After they left, Derek slamming my screen door so hard the frame rattled, I sat back down with my coffee and started making a mental list. Because forty-five years of solving problems had taught me that when someone threatens you, you better be ready with more than words.
And Derek had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
He had underestimated his mother.
The phone started ringing at six o’clock the next morning. Derek, of course, because apparently threatening your mother works up an appetite for early-morning harassment.
“Mom, I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday,” he said, his voice artificially calm. “Maybe I came on a little strong.”
“A little strong? Derek, you threatened me in my own kitchen.”
“I didn’t threaten anyone. I just think we should discuss this like adults. Maybe over dinner tonight. Tiffany’s making her famous pot roast.”
Famous pot roast. The woman couldn’t boil water without burning it. But sure, let’s pretend she was Julia Child.
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