Chapter 2 - The Scent of Greed-2
The smell of freshly brewed espresso and buttery croissants filled the sunlit kitchen at seven in the morning.
When I walked down the grand spiral staircase, I found my mother, Margaret, sitting at the mahogany breakfast island, wearing a silk robe and scrolling through a tablet. Paige was sitting across from her, applying a layer of lip gloss while flipping through a luxury fashion catalog.
Neither of them had paid the slightest attention to the pantry door at the end of the hallway where Gwen was struggling to sit up.
The moment Margaret saw me, her face transformed. The harsh, bitter sneer she had worn yesterday vanished, replaced by a warm, maternal smile that made my stomach churn with disgust.
"Good morning, my sweet boy!" Margaret exclaimed, placing her hands over her heart as if she were overwhelmed with affection. "Did you sleep well? I told Paige to order some top-tier coffee beans just for you. You must be exhausted after such a long journey from that dreadful arctic wasteland."
"I slept enough, Mom," I said smoothly, pulling out a stool and sitting across from Paige. I forced a relaxed, slightly gullible smile onto my face—the exact expression they were used to seeing four years ago.
Paige leaned over the counter, her eyes wide with unsuppressed greed. "Gavin, you have to tell us more about this corporate package! Four hundred thousand dollars in shares and compensation? Is it liquid cash, or do you have to wait for a vesting period?"
"It’s liquid cash and immediate stock transfers," I lied, keeping my tone casual as I poured myself a cup of coffee. "The metalworking company’s parent corporation was acquired by a major conglomerate out of Toronto. Because of the fire and the sudden shutdown, they are buying out all long-term contractors to avoid union lawsuits. But there's a strict tax clause."
Margaret leaned in closer, her silk sleeves rustling. "What kind of clause, darling?"
"Because I worked as an overseas contractor, the state government will levy a forty percent tax on the lump sum unless I can prove that the capital is being invested directly into primary residential real estate and established family businesses registered in my name," I explained, leaning back and taking a slow sip of coffee. "If I can show them a property deed worth at least three hundred thousand dollars held in my name or co-owned with my immediate family before Friday, the tax drops to zero. That means I keep the full four hundred thousand."
I watched the wheels turning behind my mother's heavily made-up eyes.
She took a slow, calculated breath. I knew exactly what she was thinking. For four years, she had kept the deed to this house strictly under her own name to maintain total leverage over me and Gwen. She had used my money to buy it, but on paper, I owned nothing. Now, her own greed was placing her in a agonizing dilemma: hold onto the sole ownership of a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar house, or share ownership with me to unlock an additional four hundred thousand dollars in cold, hard cash.
"Before Friday?" Margaret asked, her voice faltering slightly. "That's... that's only three days away, Gavin."
"I know," I said, shaking my head with fake frustration. "It's tight. If I can't present the updated deed to the corporate lawyers by Friday afternoon, they will automatically withhold the forty percent tax and wire the remainder to a locked retirement account that I can't touch for fifteen years."
"Fifteen years?!" Paige shrieked, slamming her coffee mug onto the marble counter. "That's insane! You can't let them lock up that money, Gavin! Mom, do something! We need that money for the expansion on the backyard pool, and I promised my friends we were taking a yacht tour in Miami next month!"
"Quiet, Paige!" Margaret snapped, glaring at her daughter before turning her greasy smile back toward me. "Gavin, honey... you know I built this house for us. It was always meant to be our family home. If adding your name to the property deed is what it takes to save a hundred and sixty thousand dollars in taxes, then of course your mother will help you."
"Are you sure, Mom?" I asked, putting on an act of profound gratitude. "I know how much pride you take in owning this place."
"Oh, nonsense!" Margaret declared waved her hand dismissively. "We are family! What's mine is yours. We can go to the county clerk's office tomorrow morning and add your name to the title."
"Actually," I said, leaning forward, dropping my voice as if sharing a high-level corporate secret, "the corporate lawyers said a simple joint ownership might still trigger a partial audit. They recommended a full transfer of the asset into a holding trust where I am listed as the primary managing trustee, with you and Paige as contingent beneficiaries. That way, it looks like a corporate asset transfer on paper, making it completely tax-exempt."
Margaret paused. Her sharp, predatory instincts flickered for a second. She was an expert at manipulating emotional situations, but when it came to complex corporate law and trust structures, she was completely illiterate.
"A holding trust?" she repeated slowly.
"Yes," I nodded smoothly. "My company’s legal team in Chicago already drafted the standardized trust documents. All we need to do is sign them in front of a notary public, attach the original property deed, and submit it. Once the corporate board approves the transfer on Friday morning, the four hundred thousand dollars will be wired directly into the trust's primary checking account—which I will give you full signing authority over."
The magic words—full signing authority over four hundred thousand dollars—instantly extinguished whatever spark of suspicion had crossed my mother's mind. Her eyes practically turned into dollar signs.
"That sounds wonderful, Gavin!" Margaret gushed, reaching across the counter to squeeze my hand. "You really have become a brilliant businessman up there in Canada! I am so proud of you!"
"Thanks, Mom," I said, forcing myself not to pull my hand away from her touch. "Oh, by the way... speaking of assets, where are the receipts and titles for the new pickup truck out front? The legal team needs a full disclosure of all high-value vehicles registered to the household to complete the trust portfolio."
"Paige has the title in her room!" Margaret said instantly, throwing her daughter under the bus without a second thought. "We can add the truck to the trust too if it helps save more taxes!"
"Perfect," I said, smiling inwardly. "Bring all the documents down to the study tonight. I’ll prepare the paperwork."
Just then, a faint coughing fit echoed from the back hallway, breaking the warm, greedy atmosphere in the kitchen.
Paige rolled her eyes with deep annoyance. "Ugh, listen to her. She's doing that on purpose just to ruin our morning."
Margaret’s face instantly hardened, her warm maternal facade vanishing like smoke. "Gwen!" she barked toward the pantry. "Shut up in there! You're making noise while Gavin is trying to enjoy his breakfast!"
I stood up from my chair, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth threatened to crack.
"Don't worry about her, Mom," I said, keeping my voice utterly devoid of emotion. "I'm actually going to take Gwen out for the day. I have some personal errands in the city, and frankly, her appearance is embarrassing. I'll take her to a clinic far away from here so no one in the neighborhood sees her."
Margaret smirked, misinterpreting my statement completely. She thought I was ashamed of my sick wife.
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"That's very thoughtful of you, Gavin," Margaret said approvingly. "Get her out of the house. Having her slinging around here like a zombie gives the neighbors the wrong impression about our family."
"Right," I whispered, my eyes darkening as I turned toward the pantry. "The wrong impression."
