My investigator spoke to his wife, who found out about the affair and gave him an ultimatum. That’s why Lennox is suddenly desperate for money and a place to stay. Her sugar daddy cut her off.
I closed my eyes, processing this information.
Everything made sense now.
The sudden urgency to sell the house, the reckless spending spree, the desperation when I refused to let them stay with me.
Lennox wasn’t just irresponsible with money. She was a predator who had systematically destroyed my son’s life to fund her affair.
What do we do with this information? I asked.
We use it. In the lawsuit, we can argue that the money was obtained through fraud and deception. We can also use it to ensure your son understands exactly who he married.
That afternoon, the process server delivered the legal papers to the motel where Terrence and Lennox were staying.
I knew because Terrence called me 30 minutes later, his voice shaking with rage.
Mom, what the hell is this?
It’s a lawsuit, Terrence. I told you I was going to file it.
$67,000? You’re suing us for $67,000?
That’s what you owe me. Plus interest plus legal fees plus damages.
We don’t have $67,000.
I know. That’s what happens when you steal from family to fund a lifestyle you can’t afford.
We didn’t steal from you.
Terrence, you sold a house that had a $40,000 lean on it without paying me back. In legal terms, that’s conversion of secured property.
I could hear Lennox in the background, screaming something I couldn’t quite make out.
She wants to know if you’ve lost your mind, Terrence said.
“Tell your wife that I’m completely sane. I’m also completely done being stolen from and assaulted.”
“Mom, please. Can’t we work something out? Maybe we can—”
No, Terrence. The time for working things out was 3 years ago when you first missed a payment on the promisory note. Or it was 6 months ago when you decided to sell the house. Or it was last week when you showed up at my door asking for help after squandering over half a million dollars.
The time for working things out has passed.
What do you want us to do? We’re living in a motel.
I want you to get jobs and start taking responsibility for the mess you’ve made.
Lennox can’t work. She’s never had a job.
Then it’s time for her to learn.
Mom, you don’t understand. She’s not capable of working some minimum wage job. She’s—
She’s what, Terrence? Too good to work? Too special to contribute to her own survival?
The silence stretched between us.
Finally, Terrence spoke, his voice quieter now.
She says she’ll counter Sue for emotional distress or something.
I almost laughed.
Let her try. I have witnesses to her assaulting me and I have documentation of every dollar she stole. What does she have?
More screaming in the background.
Then Terrence came back on the line.
She wants to know why you’re doing this to us.
Because you both need to learn that actions have consequences. And Terrence, there’s something else you need to know about your wife.
What?
I hesitated.
This was the moment of truth. The moment when I would either save my son or lose him forever.
She’s been having an affair.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears.
What did you say?
Lennox has been having an affair for at least 6 months. The man is wealthy and married. She’s been using your money to fund their relationship.
That’s not true.
It is true. My attorney hired an investigator. We have proof.
You hired an investigator to spy on my wife.
I hired an investigator to find out where $600,000 went. The affair was just what we discovered in the process.
More silence.
Then in the background, I heard Lennox’s voice clearly for the first time.
“What is she saying? What lies is she telling you about me?”
“She says you’re having an affair,” Terrence said, his voice hollow.
The explosion that followed was audible, even through the phone.
Lenn screamed, denials, accusations, threats. She called me every name in the book, and a few I’d never heard before.
“Terrence,” I said quietly. Ask her about Richard Hawthorne.
The screaming stopped abruptly.
Who is Richard Hawthorne? Terrence asked.
Ask your wife.
I heard muffled conversation.
Then Terrence came back on the line.
She says she doesn’t know anyone by that name.
He’s 52 years old, owns a construction company, drives a black Mercedes. He’s been paying for her jewelry and spa trips for months. His wife found out about the affair last week and made him end it.
The phone went quiet again.
This time the silence stretched for almost a full minute.
Terrence, are you there?
How do you know all this?
Because I hired professionals to find out where your money went. And what we discovered is that your wife has been systematically destroying your life to fund an affair with a married man who just dumped her.
She’s saying it’s not true.
Of course she is. What did you expect her to say?
She’s crying now.
She’s manipulating you again.
Mom, I can’t. I need to think.
Think about this, Terrence. Think about how she convinced you to sell your house without discussing it with me first, even though I had a legal interest in the property.
Think about how she spent $600,000 in a few months while you were at work, trusting her to make responsible decisions.
Think about how she slapped your mother in front of the entire neighborhood and then expected you to defend her.
I’m hanging up now, Terrence.
Wait.
But the line went dead.
I sat in my kitchen staring at the phone, wondering if I’d just saved my son or lost him forever. Either way, I told him the truth. What he did with that information was up to him.
The next morning, James Crawford called again.
Bessie, I have an update. Your son called my office this morning. He wants to meet.
Meet about what?