The desktop was organized with military precision, folders labeled by year: 2012, 2013, 2014, all the way through 2024.
Inside each folder were video files. Dozens of them.
“One hundred forty-seven videos,” I whispered.
But before I watched any of them, I needed to read her letter.
I settled into Grandfather William’s old chair and broke the seal.
My dearest Mila,
If you’re reading this, then I’m gone. And Karen has done exactly what I predicted. She’s fighting for the mansion. She’s calling me senile. She’s trying to destroy you.
I want you to know the truth.
Karen began borrowing money from me in 2012. At first, it was small amounts. Ten thousand here, twenty thousand there. She said it was for emergencies, for Richard’s business troubles, for things I didn’t question because she was my daughter.
By 2015, I realized I’d lost control. She had me sign papers while I was recovering from hip surgery, still foggy from painkillers – a power of attorney, access to my accounts. When I tried to revoke it, she threatened me. She said if I didn’t keep giving her money, she would make sure you never visited me again. She would tell you lies about me.
I was weak. I was afraid. So I stayed silent.
But I wasn’t stupid.
I recorded everything, Mila. Every visit where she demanded money. Every threat. Every forged signature. The USB contains 147 videos. Use them wisely.
I love you more than words can say.
Grandma.
I read the letter three times.
Each time, the words cut deeper.
Twelve years. Karen had been draining Grandma for twelve years, threatening her, manipulating her, using me as a weapon.
My hands shook as I plugged the USB into the laptop.
The files loaded. One hundred forty-seven video thumbnails, each one dated and labeled.
I clicked the first one, dated January 15, 2012.
The video showed Grandma’s living room, the same living room where I had spent my childhood. Karen sat across from her, legs crossed, expression pleasant.
“I just need ten thousand, Mama. Richard’s car broke down.”
“That’s the third time this year, Karen.”
“Well, these things happen. You can afford it.”
The video ended.
I clicked the next one. March 2012. Fifteen thousand for home repairs.
Then I jumped ahead.
Video number 35, dated March 15, 2018.
The scene was different. Grandma looked older, frailer. Karen’s pleasant mask was gone.
“Sign the check, Mother.”
“Karen, this is seventy-five thousand dollars.”
