My Son And Dil Invited Me To Move In After I Sold My House For $785k. I Overheard Them Coaching Each Other On How To Drain My Bank Account. Am I Wrong For Leaving Without Saying A Word?
Chapter 6: Protecting the Legacy
That night I barely slept. I kept replaying the conversation, kept hearing Jennifer’s voice coaching David on how to manipulate me, kept hearing him go along with it, rationalize it.
The next morning I called Robert Chen. His assistant got me in that afternoon.
Robert was younger than I expected, maybe 50, with kind eyes and a direct manner I appreciated. I told him everything.
He took notes, asked questions, didn’t judge.
“You did the right thing by not confronting them immediately,”
He said first thing when I finished.
“That money is yours. Your husband left it to you. You earned it through your marriage and your life. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for how you choose to use or not use it.”
“But David is my son,”
I said.
“And you love him,”
Robert replied.
“I understand, but love doesn’t obligate you to financial exploitation.”
He leaned forward.
“Mrs. Patterson, I see this frequently,”
He said.
“Adult children, sometimes with the encouragement of spouses, view their parents’ assets as already belonging to them. They’re just waiting for access.”
“When you sold your house, you didn’t lose your home. You liquidated an asset. That money is yours to do with as you please.”
“Jennifer talked about me investing in David’s business,”
I said.
“A business that doesn’t exist,”
Robert replied.
“Funded by your money in a market you know nothing about, arranged by two people who are financially desperate and see you as a solution to their overspending.”
He shook his head.
“That’s not an investment opportunity,”
He continued.
“That’s a transfer of your wealth to cover their debts.”
“What should I do?”
I asked.
Robert pulled out a legal pad.
“First we protect your assets,”
He said.
“I’m going to help you set up accounts in your name only. We’ll move the money from the sale immediately.”
“Second, you need to decide where you want to live,”
He continued.
“Not with them. You need your own space, your own independence.”
“Third, we prepare for the conversation with your son,”
He added.
“I have to tell him,”
I said.
“I know you do, but on your terms, in your way, when you’re ready,”
Robert replied.
“And Mrs. Patterson, you might want to consider what relationship you want with them moving forward. This wasn’t a momentary lapse in judgment; this was calculated. They’ve been planning this.”
Chapter 7: The Confrontation at the Cafe
That week I worked with Robert. We moved the money into accounts David and Jennifer couldn’t access.
I found a beautiful apartment in a community for active seniors with a gym, a pool, social activities. The rent was 1,500 a month; I could afford it easily and still have plenty left for travel, for life, for actual emergencies.
On Friday I asked David to meet me for coffee, just us. He looked nervous when he arrived at the cafe.
“Mom, where have you been?”
He asked.
“Jennifer’s been worried. You’ve been staying at a hotel?”
“I needed some space to think,”
I replied.
I stirred my coffee.
“David, I need to tell you something,”
I said.
“I heard you and Jennifer talking on Tuesday, the day I came back from the closing.”
His face went pale.
“Mom—”
He started.
“I heard everything,”
I interrupted.
“The plan to get me to contribute to household expenses, the idea to have me invest in a business that doesn’t exist, the comments about me being compliant and agreeable.”
“Mom, that’s not—we were just talking. We didn’t mean—”
David stammered.
“David, stop,”
My voice was steady, calm.
“I need you to stop trying to fix this with explanations. I heard what I heard, and more importantly, I heard you go along with it.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“We’re just so stressed about money,”
He said.
“The debt is crushing us, and I thought maybe since you were staying with us…”
“You thought you could manipulate me out of my life savings to fix your financial mistakes?”
I asked.
“Don’t say it like that,”
David said.
“How should I say it?”
I asked.
I leaned forward.
“David, you’re my son. I love you more than anything, but I’m not a retirement fund for your bad decisions,”
I said.
