Chapter 12
Miles away across the city, Garrett sat comfortably in the plush, leather-lined office of a high-end downtown real estate firm, reviewing the final parchment contracts for his newly acquired property. The room smelled of expensive leather, polished mahogany, and fresh printer toner—a scent of absolute success and upward mobility. His phone, resting flat beside his sleek laptop, vibrated softly against the wood, flashing his mother's caller ID for the third time that morning. Garrett glanced down at the screen, his jaw tightening slightly as a flicker of annoyance crossed his handsome features. He was right in the middle of negotiating a secondary line of credit to furnish the expansive living room of the very house she had gifted him, and listening to her complain about household logistics was the last thing he had time for. With a smooth, practiced motion, he swiped the screen to silence the notification, letting the call drop straight into voicemail without a second thought. "Everything looks pristine, Garrett. Just sign right here on the dotted line, and the keys to the estate are officially yours," the senior agent purred, sliding a golden fountain pen across the blotter with an encouraging smile. Garrett picked up the heavy pen, its metallic weight feeling reassuringly solid in his fingers, and quickly scrawled his signature across the official transfer documents. He pushed the folder back across the table, feeling a surge of unadulterated triumph flush through his veins. For years, he had played the role of the devoted, attentive golden child—nodding at all the right moments, agreeing with her scathing critiques of Craig, and swallowing his own doubts to secure this exact financial elevation. Now that the four hundred thousand dollars and the deed were firmly in his possession, the psychological need to manage her daily demands felt increasingly obsolete. His phone buzzed once more with a text notification containing a short, panicked voicemail transcription from her regarding the severed utilities. Garrett frowned, tossing the pen onto the desk with a soft clatter, before typing out a quick, dismissive reply: In meetings all day closing the property accounts. Call a local technician or utility provider to sort out the billing. He hit send without a single ounce of hesitation, effectively washing his hands of the mess and turning back to the real estate agent to discuss interior paint colors.
