Robert exploded. “That’s private!”
Mr. O’Connell looked over his glasses. “Your mother made it legal record.”
Robert shut his mouth.
Then came Daniel.
You saw him brace before his name was spoken.
“Daniel, my baby boy. You promised me two weeks. You told me my room was being renovated. I believed you because a mother wants to believe the child she spoiled. But there was no room. There was no renovation. There was only my house.”
Daniel’s face went pale.
The room changed.
Even Claudia looked at him.
Mr. O’Connell’s voice hardened slightly.
“While I sat by the window waiting for you, you rented out my home on Blanco Road for $2,800 a month. You deposited the money into your own account. You told your siblings it was being used for my care. It was not.”
Robert turned. “What?”
Claudia stood. “Daniel?”
Daniel lifted both hands. “Wait. Everybody calm down.”
But there was no calming down after truth had already entered the room.
Mr. O’Connell placed a document on the bedside table. “Mrs. Whitaker obtained rental records, bank statements, and copies of electronic deposits. She also filed a complaint before her passing.”
Daniel’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
You remembered then the folder he had brought against his chest.
Not grief.
Paperwork.
He had expected to manage the situation.
He had walked into his mother’s death prepared to protect himself.
Robert lunged toward him. “You were collecting rent on Mom’s house?”
Daniel stepped back. “I was handling expenses!”
