“Mrs. Gertrude,” I said, activating my phone camera, “please repeat your claim.”
The lobby became quiet.
“Tell everyone here that you paid for the remodeling.”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“Tell them you personally paid for the kitchen, the windows, the furniture, and the structural work.”
“I… my son…”
I opened the folder.
“These are my bank statements showing every transfer came directly from my personal account.”
I held up more documents.
“Signed construction agreements.”
“Original invoices.”
“And messages in which you personally thanked me for paying for your kitchen, windows, and furniture.”
The whispers started immediately.
Mrs. Gertrude tried to interrupt.
“But you were going to become family!”
“Exactly.”
I looked at her.
“I was going to.”
Then I calmly explained what had happened on the wedding day.
The chained gate.
The demand that I wait outside three hours.
The supposed spiritual cleansing.
And Brandon standing by while it happened.
I didn’t exaggerate.
I didn’t need to.
The truth already sounded unbelievable.
One of my coworkers shook her head.
“They actually did that?”
Our head of security stepped forward.
“Ma’am, you need to leave the property. If you believe a crime occurred, you can make an official report, but you cannot continue disrupting this workplace.”
Mrs. Gertrude left with her face covered.
I thought that would finally end things.
It didn’t.
That evening, I left work during heavy rain.
Mrs. Gertrude was waiting near the entrance.
This time, there were no fake tears.
“Because of you, my son is going to lose everything!”
“No.”
I opened my umbrella.
“He’s dealing with the consequences of his own decisions.”
“You brought bad luck into our family!”
I looked at her.
“You still believe that?”
Then she started insulting my parents.
That was where I drew the line.
“Do not talk about my parents.”
“Your mother raised a heartless woman.”
I stared directly at her.
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