My Daugther woke me before sunrise and said, “Make some coffee and set the table”
«I live to serve,» I said, and neither of them caught the sarcasm.
Derek excused himself to take a shower and get ready for his morning calls. I cleaned up the kitchen while Sophia sat at the counter scrolling through her phone, occasionally making comments about how nice it was to have a proper breakfast ready without having to think about it.
«Derek is really impressed with you,» she said eventually. «He said you remind him of his grandmother, who always had everything organized and ready.»
His grandmother. I was fifty-two years old, and my daughter’s husband was comparing me to his deceased grandmother. How flattering.
«I think this arrangement could really work out for everyone,» Sophia continued. «You get to feel useful and needed. We get to enjoy some quality family time, and Derek gets the kind of environment that helps him be productive.»
Quality family time, where I provided free meal service while they discussed selling my house.
About forty-five minutes after breakfast, I heard the first signs that my special recipe was taking effect. Derek’s voice drifted down from upstairs, calling Sophia’s name with what sounded like urgency.
«Sophia, where’s the bathroom?»
«Upstairs hall, first door on the right,» she called back, not looking up from her phone.
«I found it, but is there another one?»
I continued wiping down counters that were already clean, hiding my smile.
«Mom, do you have any stomach medication?» Derek’s voice came from the top of the stairs, sounding considerably less confident than it had during breakfast.
«In the medicine cabinet,» I called back. «Are you feeling unwell?»
«Just a little stomach upset, probably something I ate yesterday.»
Sophia finally looked concerned. «Derek, are you okay?»
«I’m sure it’s fine. Just… could you maybe postpone that 9 a.m. call? I might need a few more minutes.»
Over the next hour, Derek made six trips to the bathroom. By the third trip, he was walking much faster. By the fifth, he was practically running.
«I don’t understand what’s wrong with him,» Sophia said, pacing around my kitchen. «He never gets sick.»
«Food poisoning can be very sudden,» I said sympathetically. «Maybe something from that restaurant you went to yesterday?»
«But I ate the same things he did, and I feel fine.»
«Everyone reacts differently to bacteria.»
Derek appeared in the doorway, pale and sweating. «Sophia, I need you to call Dr. Martinez. Something is seriously wrong.»
«Should I take you to the hospital?» Sophia was starting to panic, which was almost as satisfying as watching Derek’s discomfort.
«Let’s see how you feel after it works its way through your system,» I suggested helpfully. «Sometimes these things just need time.»
«Mrs. Whitmore, I hate to ask, but do you have any Pepto-Bismol or Imodium? Anything?»
«I’ll check.» I made a show of looking through my medicine cabinet and returned with a bottle of antacids that would do absolutely nothing for his current problem. «This might help.»
Derek swallowed four tablets and retreated upstairs again. For the rest of the morning, the only sounds in my house were his footsteps rushing between the bedroom and bathroom, punctuated by Sophia’s concerned questions and his increasingly strained responses.
By lunchtime, he was too weak to come downstairs.
«Mom, I think we should take him to Urgent Care,» Sophia said. «He’s been sick for hours.»
«If you think that’s best,» I agreed, though sometimes these stomach bugs just have to run their course.
«This isn’t a stomach bug. This is serious.»
I looked at my daughter with all the concern I could muster. «You’re probably right. Food poisoning can be dangerous if it gets too severe.»
As they prepared to leave for the medical center, Derek managed to make it downstairs, looking like he’d aged ten years in the past four hours.
«Mrs. Whitmore, I’m so sorry about this,» he said weakly. «I don’t know what happened.»
«These things are unpredictable,» I said. «I do hope you feel better soon.»
«We might be a while at the doctor,» Sophia said, helping Derek to the car. «Don’t wait up for us.»
I watched them drive away, Derek hunched over in the passenger seat like he was afraid to move too suddenly. Then I went back to my kitchen and disposed of the rest of the crushed laxatives I’d hidden in the spice cabinet. Tomorrow morning, Derek would probably be feeling much better. But I doubted he’d be quite so enthusiastic about requesting breakfast at 5 a.m., and this was just the beginning of what I had planned for my unexpected houseguests.
Derek spent three hours at Urgent Care only to be told he had a severe case of food poisoning and needed to stay hydrated and rest. When they returned that afternoon, he looked like a man who’d been through a war and lost.
«The doctor said it was probably something he ate yesterday,» Sophia announced as she helped Derek up the stairs. «He needs to stick to bland foods for the next few days.»
«How terrible,» I said, following them with a pitcher of ice water. «I feel so guilty. What if it was something I served this morning?»
«No, Mom. The doctor said the timing doesn’t match. Food poisoning from breakfast would have started much sooner.»
Derek collapsed onto the guest bed like his legs couldn’t support him anymore. «Mrs. Whitmore, I’m so sorry about this. I know we’ve disrupted your routine.»
«Don’t you worry about anything,» I said, arranging pillows behind his back. «Your only job is to get better.»
For the rest of the day, Derek stayed in bed while Sophia played nursemaid, bringing him sips of ginger ale and checking his temperature every hour. I made a simple chicken broth for dinner and served it to him on a tray, playing the concerned hostess to perfection.
«You’re so kind,» Derek said weakly. «I don’t know what we would have done if we were staying at a hotel.»
«That’s what family is for,» I replied, noting how quickly he’d accepted the «family» designation when he needed care.
That evening, while Derek slept fitfully upstairs, Sophia and I sat on my deck watching the sun set.
«I’m worried about him,» she said. «He never gets sick. He has this whole health routine, takes supplements, exercises every day.»
«Sometimes our bodies surprise us,» I said. «Stress can lower immunity.»
«Stress? Well, starting a new marriage, traveling, making big life decisions… that can all take a toll.»
Sophia looked at me sideways. «What big life decisions?»
«Your suggestion about me selling this house. That’s a major financial decision. I’m sure Derek feels responsible for helping me make the right choice.»
«Oh.» She seemed to consider this. «Actually, we were planning to talk to you more about that. Derek has some concrete proposals he wanted to present.»
«I’m sure he does.»
«He really knows what he’s talking about, Mom. He’s helped other people in similar situations.»
Similar situations. Like elderly homeowners who needed guidance from a young man with expensive taste and failing businesses.
«I’d be very interested to hear his proposals,» I said. «When he’s feeling better, of course.»
The next morning, Derek emerged from the guest room looking significantly improved, but still cautious. He’d apparently spent the night afraid to eat anything substantial, which meant my laxative surprise had done exactly what I’d intended.
«How are you feeling?» I asked, as he tentatively sipped the herbal tea I’d prepared.
«Much better, thank you. I think the worst is over.»
«I’m so glad. There’s nothing worse than being sick away from home.»
Derek nodded, then looked around my kitchen with what I was starting to recognize as his appraising expression. «Mrs. Whitmore, I hope we can continue the conversation we started a few days ago. About your living situation.»
«Of course. I’ve been thinking about what you said.»
His eyes lit up. «Really?»
«Really. In fact, your illness yesterday made me realize how isolated I am out here. If something serious happened to me, no one would know.»
Sophia appeared in the doorway, still in her robe. «See, Mom? That’s exactly what we’ve been trying to tell you.»
«Yes, you’ve been very persuasive.» I poured Derek more tea, watching him carefully for any signs that he was planning to make breakfast demands again. «Derek, you mentioned you had experience helping other people with their property decisions.»
«Absolutely. It’s actually a specialty of mine, helping seniors transition from large properties they can no longer maintain to more appropriate living situations.»
Seniors. I was fifty-two, and he was talking about me like I was ready for assisted living.
«And you handle all the financial details?»
«Everything. The property assessment, market analysis, sale negotiations, investment strategy for the proceeds. My clients don’t have to worry about any of the complicated aspects.»
«Your clients,» I repeated. «How many people have you helped with this kind of transition?»
Derek exchanged a quick glance with Sophia. «Several. In fact, I just completed a successful transition for a lovely elderly woman in Riverside who was struggling to maintain her family home.»
The lovely elderly woman whose house was now in foreclosure proceedings.
«That sounds perfect,» I said. «I’d love to hear more details about how the process works.»
«Well, first, we’d need to do a proper assessment of the property value. Then we’d look at your current financial situation—debts, expenses, that sort of thing. After that, I can present you with several options for maximizing your return on investment.»
«And you’d handle the sale directly? Through my company?»
«Yes. It’s much more efficient than dealing with traditional real estate agents who don’t understand the unique needs of senior property owners.»
I nodded thoughtfully. «It sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this.»
«I have. I can see how much stress this kind of decision would create for someone in your position. Having professional guidance makes all the difference.»
Someone in my position. A helpless middle-aged woman who needed a young man to swoop in and solve her problems.
«Derek,» I said, leaning forward with what I hoped looked like genuine interest. «Would it be possible to see some documentation of your previous work? Success stories, client testimonials, that sort of thing?»
«Of course. I have a complete portfolio back in Riverside. I could have my assistant email you some examples.»
«That would be wonderful.»
For the next hour, Derek laid out his vision for my future. I would sell the house to his investment company for what he called a «fair market price,» which would be determined by his assessment. The proceeds would be invested in a portfolio he would manage, providing me with monthly income while the principal grew over time. I would move to a small condo in a senior community where I wouldn’t have to worry about maintenance or security. Derek would handle all the financial details for a modest management fee.
It was a beautiful plan—for Derek.
«This all sounds very professional,» I said when he finished his presentation. «I’m impressed by how thoroughly you’ve thought this through.»
«I believe in being prepared,» Derek said. «The real estate market can be volatile, so timing is crucial.»
«And you think now is the right time?»
«Absolutely. The market is strong, interest rates are favorable, and frankly, Mrs. Whitmore, you’re at the perfect age to make this transition before you’re forced to by circumstances.»
Forced to by circumstances. Like a health crisis or financial emergency that would leave me vulnerable to exactly the kind of pressure he was applying right now.
«I appreciate your concern for my welfare,» I said. «It’s touching to see how much you care about my future security.»
Derek beamed, apparently convinced that he’d successfully manipulated a lonely middle-aged woman into handing over her most valuable asset. But Derek had no idea that while he was recovering from his mystery illness yesterday, I’d been making some phone calls of my own. To the elderly woman in Riverside whose house he’d helped her «sell.» To his ex-wife in San Diego. To a very interesting private investigator who specialized in real estate fraud.
Derek thought he was closing in on his next victim. What he didn’t realize was that I’d been setting a trap, and he was about to walk right into it.
«Derek,» I said, standing up from the kitchen table. «I think I’m ready to move forward with your proposal.»
The look of triumph that flashed across Derek’s face when I agreed to his proposal was almost worth the week of listening to him treat my house like his personal resort.
«That’s wonderful news, Mrs. Whitmore,» he said, already reaching for his phone. «I can have my team start the assessment process as early as tomorrow.»
«Actually,» I said, raising a hand to stop him. «I’d like to invite some other people to be part of this decision. You know how complicated financial matters can be for someone my age?»
Derek’s smile faltered slightly. «Other people?»
«Well, my attorney, for one, and my financial advisor. I’m sure you understand. A decision this significant requires proper legal review.»
Sophia looked confused. «Mom, I didn’t know you had a financial advisor.»
«Oh yes, Harold Manning. He’s been managing my investments since the divorce. Very conservative approach, but he’s kept me quite comfortable.» I smiled at Derek. «I’m sure you two will have a lot to discuss about investment strategies.»
Derek was nodding, but I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. The presence of actual financial professionals would complicate his carefully crafted sales pitch.
«Of course,» he said. «I always recommend that my clients get independent verification of any proposals. It’s just good business practice.»
«I knew you’d understand. Oh, and I’ve also invited Jennifer Walsh to join us.»
The color drained from Derek’s face so quickly, I thought he might faint. «Jennifer? Walsh?»
«Yes, your ex-wife. Such a sweet woman. We had the most interesting conversation yesterday while you were recovering.»
Sophia looked back and forth between us. «Derek, you talked to his ex-wife? Why would you do that?»
«Just doing my due diligence,» I said cheerfully. «When someone is offering to help me manage my financial future, I like to understand their background thoroughly.»
Derek had gone completely silent, staring at me like I’d just pulled a gun on him.
«Jennifer had such fascinating stories about your business practices,» I continued, «especially regarding her catering company—the one that was sold so suddenly right before your divorce.»
«Mrs. Whitmore,» Derek said carefully. «I think there may have been some misunderstandings in whatever conversation you had with my ex-wife.»
«Oh, I don’t think so. She was very clear about how you convinced her to put her business up as collateral for some property investments that didn’t work out quite as planned.»
Sophia was looking increasingly alarmed. «Derek, what is she talking about?»
«It’s complicated, honey. Jennifer and I had some business disagreements during our marriage. She’s still bitter about the divorce.»
«Is she bitter about the bankruptcy too?» I asked. «Or just about losing her life’s work to cover your failed real estate ventures?»
Derek stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against my kitchen floor. «I think there’s been a serious miscommunication here.»
«I don’t think so at all. In fact, I think the communication has been perfectly clear.» I looked directly at him. «You’ve been very transparent about your intentions, Derek. You want to help me sell my house to your investment company, manage the proceeds through your financial services, and move me into a place where I’m completely dependent on your expertise.»
«That’s not how I would characterize it.»
«How would you characterize it? I’m trying to help you make a smart financial transition?»
«The same way you helped Eleanor Patterson in Riverside?»
This time Derek actually stepped backward. «How do you know about Eleanor?»
«Oh, we’ve become quite friendly. She’s very interested in meeting you again, actually. Something about wanting to discuss why her monthly payments stopped coming and why her house is now in foreclosure proceedings.»
