Chapter 3 - The Birthday Trap
I started looking at the party differently.
Rebecca’s first birthday decorations covered the backyard.
Pink balloons.
A giant cake.
Flowers.
Nearly thirty guests.
It looked perfect.
Too perfect.
My mother had insisted on hosting.
When I offered to hire caterers, she refused.
“Family should help family,” she’d said.
Now Samuel had been turned into a waiter.
Rebecca was carrying plastic cups.
Jacob was wiping spilled food.
My parents had created the exact conditions guaranteed to make me furious.
Then Robert had walked directly toward me and screamed at the children.
Not privately.
In front of cameras.
“Do it and stop your bitching!”
He wanted a reaction.
And I gave him one.
I grabbed my phone.
Robert immediately stepped toward me.
“Who are you calling?”
“My lawyer.”
Helen scoffed.
“You have a lawyer?”
“My company does.”
I called Melissa Grant, the attorney who handled my business contracts.
I gave her the shortest version possible.
Forged signature.
Guardianship documents.
Family trust.
She stopped me.
“Thomas, do not give those papers back.”
Robert’s face hardened.
Melissa continued.
“Photograph every page. Photograph the envelope. Do not alter anything.”
I did.
Helen suddenly moved toward the black envelope.
I stepped away.
“Stay back.”
“You’re stealing my property.”
“You put my forged signature on your property.”
Guests were beginning to leave.
That was when my cousin Daniel approached.
He looked uncomfortable.
“Tom.”
“What?”
He glanced toward Robert.
“I think you need to see something.”
My father’s expression changed.
“Daniel, go home.”
Daniel ignored him.
He opened his phone.
“I started recording before you came outside because Samuel looked like he was going to drop that tray.”
He played the video.
Robert was standing beside Samuel.
The toddler struggled under the weight.
My father deliberately added another plate.
“Grandpa, stop,” Daniel had said from behind the camera.
Robert looked toward him.
“Mind your business.”
Then Helen entered the frame.
She leaned toward Robert.
Her voice was faint.
But audible.
“Thomas should be here any minute.”
Robert answered:
“Good.”
My skin prickled.
The recording continued.
My mother looked toward the patio door.
“Make sure he sees all three of them.”
Daniel paused the video.
Nobody spoke.
Then he said, “There’s more.”
He skipped ahead thirty seconds.
Helen looked directly toward another relative who was filming.
And said:
“Don’t stop recording, no matter what Thomas does.”
I stared at my parents.
Robert no longer looked angry.
He looked cornered.
Then Daniel showed me the timestamp.
The recording had started twelve minutes before I arrived.
Which meant my parents had known exactly when I was coming.
But I had never told them.
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Only one person knew my schedule that day.
My office manager.
