My mother scoffed, her fingers casually adjusting her gold necklace. “Excuse me?” she snapped, flashing an icy, victorious smile. “You’re kicking me out over a pathetic sponge cake? I own this house, Thomas. I control the family trust. You throw me out, and you get absolutely nothing.”
She crossed her legs, settling deeper into the beige sofa. “Now, tell her to finish scrubbing.”
I didn’t yell. I didn’t flinch. I simply reached into my jacket pocket and dropped a sleek black smartphone onto the glass coffee table. It landed with a sharp *clack* right next to the ruined blue frosting.
My mother’s arrogant smile faltered. “What is that?”
“A funny thing about preparing for a newborn,” I said, my voice dropping to a dead, quiet whisper. “You start baby-proofing. We installed hidden nanny cams in every room yesterday. I checked the live feed from my office an hour ago.”
The blood completely drained from my mother’s face.
“I watched you smash the cake,” I continued, stepping closer until I towered over her. “But I also watched what you did right before that. I watched you open my wall safe. I watched you slip three hundred thousand dollars in bearer bonds into your designer purse. The same purse sitting on the cushion right next to you.”
My wife stopped crying. The housemaid quietly stepped in front of the front door, locking the deadbolt.
“You have three minutes to pack a single suitcase,” I said, tapping 9-1-1 on my screen and hovering my thumb over the dial button. “Or my next call isn’t for a taxi. It’s for a squad car.”
For the first time in her life, my mother looked utterly terrified. Snatching her heavy purse, she practically sprinted for the stairs.
I knelt on the marble floor to help my pregnant wife. As I reached out, she wiped the frosting off her cheek. Her tears were completely gone—replaced by a wicked, triumphant smirk.
“I told you putting the safe in the living room was a good idea,” she whispered.