“Mrs. Margaret, we need to confirm some urgent transactions,” said the voice on the other end.
My heart stopped, not from fear, from something deeper, from a suspicion that had been growing like a weed in my chest.
“What kind of transactions?” I asked, though I already knew I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“Your son, David, attempted to make a transfer of $50,000 this morning. And there are also attempts to change the ownership on several accounts. Since you are the primary account holder, we need your authorization.”
$50,000. The money we had saved from selling the cattle last month. The money that was for fixing the roof of the house, for buying the medicine I need, for ensuring this farm continued to produce.
“I don’t authorize anything,” I said in a voice I didn’t even recognize myself. “Block everything right now.”
I hung up the phone and stood there in this kitchen where I have prepared thousands of meals for a family that sees me as a nuisance. The yellow walls that I painted 10 years ago now seemed like silent witnesses to all I had endured in silence.
That night, as I watered the tomatoes and lettuce they would eat upon their return, my phone vibrated. It was David.
“Mom, what happened with the cards? We can’t withdraw a single scent. Can’t pay for anything.” His voice sounded desperate, almost hysterical. I could hear Amber screaming in the background and Catherine cursing in that elegant tone she uses when she thinks no one is listening. “Mom, are you there? Answer me.”
