Jeffrey muttered that I was his mother. Melanie snapped back, asking how much they’d already taken. He guessed around two hundred thousand. She said they could probably squeeze another hundred out of me before I noticed.
Then he started talking about my will, about getting me to sign papers while I was “still lucid,” before I became “senile.”
I went back to my room, locked the door, and cried into the pillow I used to share with Richard. That old Sophia—the naive woman who believed blood automatically meant loyalty—died that morning. A new Sophia took her place, one who would never again mistake greed for love.
Discovering the Theft
I kept quiet. I watched. I smiled like nothing had altered. But now I noticed everything: how Melanie hovered when bank mail arrived, how Jeffrey avoided talking about the bakeries, how conversations stopped when I entered a room.
I made an appointment with Robert, our longtime accountant. Under the excuse of a year-end review, I asked him to go through all of my personal and business accounts.
