Chapter 10: The Dinner Invitation Was a Trap
"Come home tonight. We need to talk. Bring the recipe book. And don't tell Denise.""
I read my mother's message again.
Denise stood beside the living room window, watching Arthur photograph the documents.
"Don't go," she said.
I slipped my phone into my pocket.
"I need to hear what she has to say.""
"Sweetheart, your mother has spent years lying to you. Whatever she wants, it isn't going to be an apology.""
Arthur closed his briefcase.
"Denise is right. We should communicate through legal representatives.""
I nodded.
But something inside me needed answers.
I wanted to look Gloria in the eyes and ask why she had stolen so much from her own family.
"Can you come with me?"" I asked Denise.
She studied my face.
"Of course.""
Arthur agreed to accompany us, although he insisted we would meet in a public place if the situation became uncomfortable.
At 7:30 p.m., we arrived at my childhood home.
The kitchen lights were on.
Through the window, I could see Gloria setting the dining table.
Two plates.
Two wineglasses.
A roast chicken.
For a moment, it looked like an ordinary family dinner.
Then I noticed the envelope beside her plate.
She opened the door before we knocked.
Her smile disappeared when she saw Denise.
"I specifically told you not to bring her.""
I stepped forward.
"And I specifically told you that I wasn't going to hide things from my family anymore.""
Gloria stared at me.
"Fine. Come inside.""
The kitchen smelled of rosemary and roasted garlic.
My mother had prepared Grandma's favorite dinner.
It was almost cruel.
She had spent years hiding Grandma's legacy, yet she still used her recipes when she wanted to make herself look generous.
Gloria pointed toward the chairs.
"Sit down.""
I remained standing.
"First, explain the twenty percent.""
Her jaw tightened.
"Where did you get that document?""
"Grandma's safe.""
"That safe wasn't supposed to be opened.""
"Why?""
"Because some things should stay buried.""
Denise stepped forward.
"Gloria, stop. We know about the transfers.""
My mother laughed.
"You always were dramatic, Denise.""
Arthur placed a copy of the share certificate on the table.
"Mrs. Johnson, this document shows that Eleanor's Hearth shares were transferred without Aaliyah's authorization.""
Gloria looked at him.
"That was a family business decision.""
"Your daughter was the legal beneficiary.""
"She was eight years old!""
"And you were not the owner.""
Gloria pushed the certificate away.
I finally sat down.
"Where did the money go?""
She rubbed her forehead.
"You wouldn't understand.""
"Try me.""
She took a long breath.
"When your father died, there were debts. Medical bills. Mortgage payments. Your grandmother was struggling to keep the bakery running.""
Denise shook her head.
"That was years after the bakery became profitable.""
Gloria ignored her.
"I made decisions to keep this family afloat.""
"By selling Dad's shares?""
"By using what was available!""
"That wasn't yours.""
Gloria slammed her palm against the table.
"I raised you! I sacrificed everything!""
I stared at her.
"Then why did you make me believe I had nothing?""
She looked away.
For the first time, her anger seemed to weaken.
"Because you were always asking questions.""
"What questions?""
"About the bakery. About Grandma. About the money.""
I felt a chill.
"How long have you been doing this?""
She didn't answer.
Denise placed another document on the table.
"This is the original ownership agreement. It proves that neither Gloria nor Eleanor could independently sell the entire business.""
Gloria stared at the paper.
Then she stood abruptly.
"Get out.""
Arthur remained seated.
"We're not finished.""
"Get out of my house!""
I looked at the dinner she'd prepared.
The chicken was untouched.
The potatoes were cooling.
A little bowl of chocolate frosting sat beside the stove.
Grandma's frosting.
I stood.
"Did you invite me here because you wanted to explain everything, or because you wanted the recipe book?""
Gloria's expression changed.
She looked at my bag.
"Where is it?""
I stepped backward.
"I'm not giving it to you.""
She reached for the bag.
Denise moved between us.
"Don't touch her.""
Gloria stopped.
Then she looked at me with an expression I would never forget.
"You have no idea what you've done. That bakery partnership, the competition, the trust—everything is going to collapse if you don't cooperate.""
I frowned.
"What are you talking about?""
She pulled the envelope from the table.
Inside was a printed contract.
She placed it in front of me.
It was an agreement granting her management rights over the proposed bakery storefront.
My name appeared at the bottom.
Beside it was a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
I stared.
"I didn't sign this.""
Gloria crossed her arms.
"Your grandmother's estate requires family representation.""
"That's not my signature.""
Arthur immediately picked up the document.
"Where did you obtain this?""
"From the sponsor.""
He examined the final page.
Then he looked at me.
"Don't touch anything else.""
My stomach tightened.
"Why?""
"Because this document appears to have been submitted as evidence of your consent.""
I turned toward Gloria.
"Did you forge my signature?""
She smiled coldly.
"I did what was necessary.""
Denise gasped.
Arthur placed the document inside his briefcase.
"Mrs. Johnson, this changes matters considerably.""
Gloria's face hardened.
"You're all making a terrible mistake.""
I walked toward the front door.
Behind me, my mother called out.
"Remember, Aaliyah. If I fall, I'm taking everyone down with me.""
I stopped.
Then I turned.
"Mom, you already took everything from me. You just forgot that I could start again.""
We left.
In the car, Arthur immediately called the sponsor's legal department.
He explained what we had found.
Then he received an email.
He read it silently.
His face turned pale.
"What is it?"" Denise asked.
Arthur slowly turned his phone toward us.
The forged management agreement wasn't the only document Gloria had submitted.
There was another application.
May you like
A request to transfer the entire $50,000 competition prize into an account controlled by her.
And according to the submission timestamp, the request had been filed before the competition even began.
