Thomas hadn’t just given them a luxury property.
He had handed them a massive financial sinkhole.
And he had given me a debt-free sanctuary.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was a text message from Vanessa.
“Jared says, ‘The HOA bill for Miami is $3,500. Transfer the money from your account so we can pay it right now.’”
There was no “Please.” There was no, “How are you settling in?”
Just a cold, entitled demand.
I took a slow sip of my chamomile tea, the warmth spreading through my chest.
I opened my bankings app, selected the joint account I shared with Jared, and transferred exactly $15,000, my exact half, into my private individual savings account.
Then I typed my reply to Vanessa.
“I’ve removed my half of the emergency fund. The rest is yours. Manage it well.”
10 seconds later, Jared was calling.
I answered on the third ring, staring out at the moonlight hitting the pine trees.
“Hello, Jared.”
“Mom, what are you doing?” His voice was panicked, rising in pitch. “Vanessa just showed me your text message. You took half the money. We need that for the penthouse expenses.”
“I took my half of the money,” I corrected smoothly, maintaining a low, even tone.
“Your father and I put that money there for genuine life emergencies. A luxury HOA fee is not an emergency, Jared.”
“But Dad always paid it,” Jared protested weakly.
“Your father is gone. The property is yours now. The expenses belong to you.”
I heard Vanessa shouting in the background.
“Give me the phone.”
She demanded a second later. Her sharp voice pierced my ear.
“Listen to me, Leah. We are not selling this penthouse. It’s our inheritance. You are going to transfer that money back right now or you will never see us again.”