“It is now,” I replied.
I pulled out another sheet Rebecca had printed.
Fifteen years of transfers, checks, emergency wires, reimbursements, tuition, vehicle payments, and cash withdrawals tied to Benjamin.
At the bottom:
Seven hundred and forty two thousand, nine hundred and eighteen dollars and sixty three cents.
I turned the page toward them.
Benjamin stared.
Genevieve refused.
“Almost three quarters of a million dollars,” I said.
Benjamin collapsed back into his chair.
“Mother…”
“The year after Thomas died, you told me you needed time to stabilize. Then another year passed. Then Clara was born. Then Genevieve had health complications. Then the house. Then the business. Then the other house. Then the school. Then the club because connections mattered. Then the car because appearances mattered. Then the townhouse because the right neighborhood mattered.”
I kept my voice level.
“And last night, I learned exactly what I mattered to you.”
Clara cried quietly against me.
Benjamin looked devastated.
Genevieve looked inconvenienced.
That was their difference.
Benjamin could still bleed.
Genevieve only resented the stain.
“I did not know it was that much,” Benjamin whispered.
“I believe you,” I said.
Relief appeared briefly.
“Because you never wanted to know.”
He closed his eyes.
Genevieve pressed a hand onto his shoulder, supportive from afar but hard enough for me to see her fingers digging in.
“Benjamin,” she said, “we need to focus on what to do next.”
He opened his eyes but did not look at her.
For the first time that morning, he looked at me without calculation.
“Mother, I am sorry.”
The words sounded quiet, ragged, almost real.
I had waited years for them.
Now they seemed smaller than I remembered needing.
“I hear you,” I said.
His face crumpled.
Genevieve tightened her grip.
“An apology does not solve the accounts,” she noted.
“No,” I agreed. “It certainly does not.”
She faced me.
“What do you want, then?”
There it was.
The question beneath every transaction.
What will it cost?
“I want my house to be quiet,” I said. “I want my bank accounts to be mine again. I want my granddaughter to know she can love me without being used as a messenger. And I want you both to leave.”
Benjamin looked stricken.
Genevieve gave one sharp laugh.
“You are making a terrible mistake,” she said.
“Possibly.”
“You think this proves something?”
“No, I think it ends something.”
She gathered her purse.
