PART 2 — THE MILLION-DOLLAR BAIT
“The settlement is one million dollars,” I said.
For three full seconds, nobody moved.
Then my mother’s entire face changed.
Not dramatically.
Not enough that someone who didn’t know her would notice.
But I knew Selina.
I’d spent my childhood learning the difference between her angry silence, disappointed silence, and calculating silence.
This was calculation.
Godfrey recovered first.
“One million?” he repeated.
“Canadian dollars,” I said.
His eyebrows lifted.
“That’s still a fortune.”
“It is.”
Phedra’s fingers tightened around my shirt.
She was watching me carefully.
She knew me better than anyone standing in that yard, and I could tell she understood something was happening beneath my calm voice.
Selina suddenly stepped toward us.
“Damian, sweetheart, you’re exhausted. You’ve traveled all this way. We shouldn’t be arguing tonight.”
Ten seconds earlier, my wife was apparently a thief who deserved to eat scraps.
Now I was “sweetheart.”
I almost smiled.
Instead, I slipped my phone back into my pocket.
“You’re right.”
Godfrey stared at me.
Selina blinked.
“You’re absolutely right,” I continued. “We shouldn’t make decisions while we’re angry.”
“Exactly.” Selina nodded quickly. “Family problems should be handled privately.”
“Then we’ll handle them privately.”
I put one arm around Phedra.
“I’m taking my wife to the hospital.”
Selina’s smile disappeared.
“Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
“But Damian—”
“She can barely stand.”
Phedra whispered, “I’m okay.”
I looked at her.
“No, you’re not.”
Something broke in her expression.
For eleven months, she’d apparently been taught that needing help was selfish.
I wasn’t going to let her apologize for surviving.
Godfrey cleared his throat.
“What about the settlement?”
There it was.
Not How sick is Phedra?
Not Do you need help getting her to the hospital?
Not How can we make this right?
The settlement.
I looked at him.
“What about it?”
“You said it’s a million dollars.”
“Yes.”
“When do you get it?”
Selina shot him a warning glance, but the question was already hanging in the air.
I pretended not to notice.
“The attorney said everything should be finalized soon.”
That was true.
Technically.
The part I didn’t tell them was that the settlement wasn’t being deposited into my mother’s account.
It wasn’t even being deposited into my old Canadian checking account.
Two months earlier, after my attorney warned me that a settlement of that size needed proper protection, I’d created a separate account requiring my authorization for every major transfer.
Nobody could touch it except me.
But Selina and Godfrey didn’t know that.
And after what I’d seen in the backyard, I wanted to know exactly what they would do if they believed another fortune was within reach.
Selina reached for my arm.
“You know I’ve always handled the family’s finances.”
I looked at her hand.
She slowly pulled it back.
“For four years,” I said, “you certainly have.”
She didn’t hear the accusation.
She heard opportunity.
“Exactly. And you’ve never had to worry about anything.”
Behind her, Phedra made the smallest sound.
Not quite a laugh.
Not quite a sob.
Selina ignored it.
“We should sit down tomorrow,” she continued. “You, me, and Godfrey. We can decide how to invest the money.”
“We?”
Selina hesitated.
“I mean as a family.”
Godfrey jumped in.
“My auto shop is already doing well. With a little capital, we could open another location.”
I stared at him.
“How much capital?”
He tried to sound casual.
“Maybe two hundred thousand.”
Selina frowned.
“Don’t overwhelm your brother the minute he gets home.”
Godfrey lifted his hands.
“I’m just saying.”
Then Selina turned back to me.
“Your first priority should be buying property.”
Phedra was trembling beside me.
I could feel it.
She wasn’t trembling from anger.
She was weak.
I picked up my suitcase with one hand and guided her toward the gate.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
Selina followed us.
“Tomorrow what?”
“We’ll discuss the money tomorrow.”
Her expression brightened.
“All of it?”
I paused.
Then I gave her exactly what greed wanted to hear.
“All of it.”
Godfrey smiled.
Selina smiled.
And Phedra looked at me.
I gave my wife the slightest nod.
Trust me.
She understood.
We left.
Twenty minutes later, Phedra was sitting in the passenger seat of a taxi with her head against my shoulder.
Every few minutes, I looked at her just to make sure she was still awake.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“You came home and found all this.”
I stared at her.
“Phedra, look at me.”
She did.
Her eyes seemed enormous in her thin face.
“You will never apologize to me for being sick.”
Her lips trembled.
“I tried to tell you.”
“I know.”
“No, Damian. I really tried.”
She reached into the pocket of her faded blouse and pulled out an old phone.
The screen was cracked.
“They controlled the internet at the house. Your mother said international calls were too expensive. When I tried to message you about the diagnosis, she took my phone for almost two weeks.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell me afterward?”
“Because she showed me messages.”
“What messages?”
Phedra looked down.
“From you.”
My blood went cold.
“What did they say?”
“That you were struggling financially. That your job might disappear. That you were already borrowing money just to send what you sent.”
“I never wrote that.”
“I know that now.”
She swallowed.
“But at the time, I thought…”
Her voice cracked.
“I thought if I told you I had cancer, you’d come home, lose your job, and everything you’d sacrificed would be for nothing.”
I closed my eyes.
Someone had been messaging my wife pretending to be me.
“Do you still have them?”
“A few.”
“Don’t delete anything.”
She looked frightened.
“Why?”
“Because this stopped being a family argument the moment someone impersonated me.”
At the hospital, the doctors admitted Phedra almost immediately.
Tests.
Bloodwork.
Scans.
Questions.
So many questions.
I sat beside her bed until nearly dawn.
When the doctor finally came in, his expression was serious.
“Mr. Vale?”
I stood.
“Yes.”
“Your wife is severely malnourished and dehydrated. We need to stabilize her before we make decisions about the next stage of treatment.”
“Can she recover?”
He paused.
“We need updated scans before I answer that.”
Phedra looked away.
I reached for her hand.
The doctor continued carefully.
“She also told us she had previously been prescribed medication.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why she stopped taking it?”
I looked at Phedra.
She whispered, “I didn’t stop.”
The doctor frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t given it.”
My chest tightened.
“Who had it?”
Phedra stared at the blanket.
“Your mother kept the medication locked in her bedroom.”
I felt something inside me turn cold.
“Why?”
“She said I was wasting it because treatment wasn’t working fast enough.”
The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse.
That glance told me everything.
This wasn’t merely cruelty anymore.
This needed documentation.
I stepped into the hallway and called my attorney in Canada.
It was the middle of the night for me, but morning there.
He answered on the second ring.
“Damian? We’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I saw the calls.”
“We need your signature on the final settlement documents.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The company increased the offer.”
I leaned against the hospital wall.
“How much?”
“With the additional damages and confidentiality provision, the final figure is approximately 1.34 million Canadian.”
I stared through the window at Phedra.
“Can anyone access it besides me?”
“No.”
“Good.”
My attorney paused.
“Is something wrong?”
“Yes.”
I lowered my voice.
“I need another attorney.”
“What kind?”
“Financial fraud. Possibly identity theft.”
There was silence.
Then his voice changed.
“Tell me what happened.”
I gave him the short version.
Money sent home.
Wife sick.
Family spending it.
Messages sent under my name.
He didn’t interrupt once.
When I finished, he said, “Do not confront them about the financial records yet.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good. Preserve everything. Bank statements, messages, transfer receipts. Don’t accuse anyone until you know exactly where the money went.”
“I understand.”
“And Damian?”
“Yes?”
“If your mother had access to the account where you sent those transfers, request the complete transaction history immediately.”
I already knew what I was going to find.
I just didn’t know how bad it would be.
By seven that morning, Phedra was asleep.
I sat beside her with my laptop open.
Four years of transfers.
I downloaded every statement.
Then I began adding.
At first, the numbers looked ordinary.
Groceries.
Utilities.
Construction materials.
Repairs.
Then the withdrawals started getting larger.
Eight thousand.
Twelve thousand.
Five thousand.
Another ten.
Payments to a dealership.
Payments to a construction company.
Large transfers to an account with Godfrey’s name.
Then something caught my attention.
For the past eleven months—the exact period Phedra had been sick—my transfers had increased because Selina repeatedly told me expenses were rising.
She’d told me Phedra needed better food.
She’d told me the roof needed repairs.
She’d told me medical expenses were becoming difficult.
I had sent an additional $18,000.
Almost none of it had gone to medical care.
I found two hospital payments.
Exactly as Phedra had said.
Two.
Then I saw a transfer that made me sit upright.
$14,500.
Recipient:
GODFREY VALE AUTO SERVICES.
Date:
Three days after Phedra’s cancer diagnosis.
I stared at it.
Then another.
$9,000.
Another.
$6,500.
My wife’s treatment money had helped build my brother’s business.
My phone buzzed.
MOTHER.
I watched it ring.
Then stop.
Immediately, a message appeared.
“Good morning, sweetheart. I hope Phedra is feeling better. Come home when you can. I’ve made your favorite breakfast. We need to discuss your future.”
I read it twice.
Then another message came.
“And bring the settlement documents if you have them. Godfrey knows someone at the bank who can help us invest quickly.”
I actually smiled.
They couldn’t even wait until noon.
I looked through the hospital room window.
Phedra was still sleeping.
I typed back.
“I’ll be there at ten.”
Three dots appeared immediately.
“Wonderful. Come alone so we can speak freely.”
That sentence told me everything.
I called a taxi.
But before leaving the hospital, I stopped at the nurses’ station.
“No one except me is allowed to remove my wife from this hospital.”
The nurse nodded.
“We can note that.”
“And if Selina Vale or Godfrey Vale comes asking questions?”
“We won’t disclose patient information without authorization.”
“Thank you.”
Then I went home.
When I entered the house at exactly ten, the dining table looked like a business meeting.
Coffee.
Breakfast.
Notebooks.
A calculator.
Godfrey was wearing a button-down shirt.
Selina had changed into one of her best dresses.
And sitting beside them was a man I’d never seen before.
He stood when I entered.
“Damian! Congratulations.”
I didn’t shake his hand.
“Who are you?”
Godfrey laughed nervously.
“This is Mr. Rolan. He works in finance.”
The stranger smiled.
“I help families structure investments.”
Interesting.
My mother had arranged an “investment meeting” less than twelve hours after learning I had money.
I sat down.
“So what are we discussing?”
Selina pushed a notebook toward me.
“We’ve been thinking.”
“I’m sure you have.”
Godfrey ignored my tone.
“We shouldn’t let a million dollars sit around doing nothing.”
He turned the notebook.
There were numbers written across the page.
$250,000 — AUTO SHOP EXPANSION
$300,000 — PROPERTY
$100,000 — HOUSE IMPROVEMENTS
$75,000 — FAMILY RESERVE
I looked at the list.
That totaled $725,000.
“And the rest?”
Selina smiled.
“Your personal savings.”
How generous.
“And Phedra?”
Silence.
Godfrey leaned back.
“What about her?”
“Her treatment.”
Selina sighed.
“Damian, we discussed this last night.”
“No. You talked. I listened.”
Her jaw tightened.
I tapped the notebook.
“How much did you budget for my wife’s cancer treatment?”
Nobody answered.
Mr. Rolan suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“Perhaps I should step outside.”
“No,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
“Stay.”
Selina forced a laugh.
“Of course we’ll help Phedra. But you can’t destroy your future pouring money into doctors.”
I nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
Her face relaxed again.
“So you’ll consider the plan?”
“I’ll consider something better.”
Godfrey leaned forward.
“What?”
I took an envelope from my jacket.
Their eyes followed it.
Inside were several pages.
I placed them facedown on the table.
“I’ve decided that before I receive the settlement, I want to know who I can trust.”
Selina’s smile faded slightly.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m thinking about putting the entire settlement under someone else’s management.”
Godfrey’s eyes widened.
“Someone else’s?”
“Someone in the family.”
Silence.
Beautiful silence.
I continued.
“I’ll choose one person. That person will control the investment account and oversee how the money is distributed.”
Godfrey immediately sat straighter.
Selina stared at me.
I could practically hear both of them thinking.
One million dollars.
Control.
Access.
Power.
Exactly what I needed.
“How will you choose?” Godfrey asked.
“Simple.”
I leaned back.
“I want complete honesty about the money I’ve already sent home.”
Selina went still.
“Of course.”
“Every dollar.”
“Certainly.”
“No lies.”
“Damian, we’re family.”
I almost laughed at that.
Instead, I slid two blank sheets across the table.
“I want both of you to write down what you remember. Major expenses. Business investments. Renovations. Medical costs. Everything.”
Godfrey frowned.
“Why separately?”
“So nobody influences anyone else’s memory.”
Mr. Rolan looked at me.
Then he slowly understood.
Selina didn’t.
Not yet.
I stood.
“You have until tonight.”
“Damian,” Selina said sharply, “this is insulting.”
“Then it should be easy.”
Godfrey stared at the blank sheet.
“What happens after?”
“Tomorrow, I choose who controls the settlement.”
That did it.
His irritation disappeared.
My mother’s did too.
Greed defeated pride in less than five seconds.
“I’ll do it,” Godfrey said.
Selina grabbed the other sheet.
“So will I.”
I walked toward the door.
Behind me, Godfrey called, “Where are you going?”
“Back to my wife.”
Selina’s voice hardened.
“You shouldn’t tell Phedra about this arrangement yet.”
I stopped.
“Why?”
“She’s emotional. She might misunderstand.”
I turned around.
“You’re probably right.”
Selina smiled.
That smile followed me all the way outside.
Because she thought she’d won.
What she didn’t know was that I had already downloaded four years of bank statements.
I wasn’t asking them where my money went because I needed answers.
I was asking because I needed their lies.
And by promising control of a million-dollar settlement to whoever appeared most “trustworthy,” I had just given my mother and brother a reason to betray each other.
By evening, it had already begun.
Godfrey called me first.
“Damian, can we talk privately?”
“I’m at the hospital.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Then tomorrow.”
“No. Tonight.”
Something in his voice made me pause.
“Why?”
He lowered his voice.
“Because Mom is going to lie on that paper.”
I looked through the glass at Phedra sleeping.
“What is she going to lie about?”
“Everything.”
I said nothing.
Godfrey continued.
“She’ll blame the spending on me.”
“Should she?”
“No!”
He hesitated.
“Not all of it.”
There it was.
The first crack.
“How much did you take, Godfrey?”
“I didn’t take anything. Mom gave it to me.”
“How much?”
Silence.
“Maybe thirty thousand.”
My records already showed more than that.
“Maybe?”
“Okay. Forty.”
Still lying.
“What was it for?”
“The shop.”
“Did you know that money was supposed to support Phedra?”
“I thought there was plenty.”
“Did you know she had cancer?”
Silence.
“Godfrey.”
“Yes.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“And you still accepted the money?”
“Mom said Phedra probably wasn’t going to make it anyway.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
Then I heard Godfrey breathe nervously.
“Damian?”
“I’m here.”
“Look, I’m telling you the truth because I want you to know I’m not the one who started this.”
“Then who did?”
“Mom.”
“Explain.”
“Not on the phone.”
“Why?”
Another silence.
Then Godfrey said something I hadn’t expected.
“Because the money isn’t the worst thing she did.”
My body went rigid.
“What does that mean?”
“Meet me at the auto shop tonight at nine. Come alone.”
He hung up.
I stared at the phone.
At 8:57 p.m., I arrived at Godfrey’s shop.
The front lights were off.
His SUV was parked behind the building.
I entered through the side door.
“Godfrey?”
Nothing.
Then I heard movement in the office.
I walked toward it.
The door was open.
Godfrey stood beside his desk with a small cardboard box.
He looked terrified.
“You came.”
“What did you want to show me?”
He locked the office door.
Then he placed the box on the desk.
“I kept these because I knew someday Mom might blame everything on me.”
He opened it.
Inside were receipts.
Bank slips.
Copies of transfers.
And several envelopes with my name written across them.
I picked one up.
The handwriting wasn’t mine.
“What are these?”
Godfrey swallowed.
“Letters.”
“From who?”
“Phedra.”
My heart stopped.
“She wrote to you almost every month after she got sick.”
I looked at him.
“Why do you have them?”
“Because Mom never mailed them.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I opened the first envelope.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Damian,
I don’t know if my messages are reaching you anymore. I’m trying not to scare you, but I need you to know I’m sick. The doctor says we still have options if I continue treatment. Please don’t worry about the money. I only want to hear your voice…
I couldn’t keep reading.
There were eleven envelopes.
Eleven.
One for every month she’d been sick.
I looked at Godfrey.
“You knew?”
He lowered his head.
“I knew about some of them.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I’m sorry.”
I stepped toward him.
He backed into the desk.
“I’m sorry, Damian. I was scared of Mom.”
“You were scared?”
My voice stayed quiet.
“My wife was starving in a shed.”
“I know.”
“You drove a new SUV.”
“I know.”
“You opened this shop with money I earned while she begged for medicine.”
His eyes filled with panic.
“I’ll give it back.”
“This isn’t about the money anymore.”
Godfrey looked toward the door.
Then he whispered, “There’s something else.”
He reached into the box and pulled out a small pharmacy bag.
Inside were several unopened prescription bottles.
Phedra’s name was printed across every label.
My hands began shaking.
“Where did you get these?”
“Mom’s bedroom.”
“Why are they unopened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I swear.”
I turned the bottle over.
The prescription date was eight months earlier.
Medicine my wife had told the doctor she’d never received.
I stared at my brother.
“Why would Mom keep these?”
Godfrey’s face had gone pale.
“I don’t know.”
Then headlights swept across the office window.
Godfrey froze.
A car had pulled into the parking lot.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“No.”
The engine shut off.
A door slammed.
Then another.
Godfrey rushed toward the blinds and peeked through.
His face drained of color.
“What?”
He turned toward me.
“It’s Mom.”
I stared at him.
“How does she know I’m here?”
“I didn’t tell her.”
Footsteps approached the side entrance.
Godfrey suddenly grabbed the cardboard box.
“We need to hide this.”
“Why?”
“Because she cannot know I showed you.”
The door handle rattled.
Then Selina’s voice came from outside.
“Godfrey?”
He looked at me.
She knocked harder.
“I know you’re in there.”
Then she said something that made both of us stop breathing.
“And I know Damian is with you.”
Godfrey whispered, “How?”
I didn’t answer.
Because my phone vibrated at that exact moment.
A message from Phedra.
Damian, where are you?
Your mother came to the hospital.
My blood went cold.
Another message appeared.
She told the nurses she’s my emergency contact.
Then a third.
Please come back.
She’s trying to make them discharge me.
I grabbed the box.
Godfrey blocked me.
“Wait.”
“Move.”
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
His face was white.
“Mom isn’t trying to get Phedra out of that hospital because she’s worried about the settlement.”
I stared at him.
“Then why?”
Godfrey looked at the unopened medicine in my hand.
And when he spoke, his voice was barely audible.
“Because if the doctors examine Phedra closely enough, they’re going to discover why she became so sick.”
Outside, Selina pounded on the door.
“OPEN THIS DOOR!”
I looked from my brother to the medicine.
“What are you saying?”
Godfrey swallowed.
“I’m saying Phedra didn’t bring this punishment on herself.”
He pointed toward the prescription bottle.
“Mom made sure the treatment failed.”
And suddenly the missing money wasn’t the most frightening thing my family had stolen from my wife.
It was only the beginning………………..
