I worked quickly and efficiently, assisted by the team Mr. Sterling Vance had brought. We threw in Mrs. Eloise’s tacky clothes, Malik’s collection of smelly shoes, and all the cheap furniture they had bought into large black plastic bags. Those belongings wouldn’t be stored.
They would be donated or discarded, according to Grandma’s instructions. I felt a strange sensation seeing the house I lived in slowly empty out, but the relief I felt was much greater. Every time I put one of Malik’s things into a plastic bag, I felt a great weight lifting off me.
Mr. Sterling Vance oversaw the process meticulously. He had also brought a team of interior designers who would completely transform the house in a short period of time. Grandma Hattie, who had just finished bathing and was dressed in dignified loungewear, sat in a wheelchair.
It wasn’t out of paralysis, but to conserve energy. She gave instructions, wanting the house to return to how it was in her years of youth and power. She wanted it cleansed of every trace of her grandson’s laziness.
Mr. Sterling Vance approached me with a thick folder. He explained the true situation of the property assets. It turned out the house and the surrounding land had been transferred long ago to Grandma’s charitable foundation.
Therefore, legally, neither Malik nor Mrs. Eloise had any right to inherit the property. Even the car Malik had taken on vacation was a long-term rental in the company’s name, and Mr. Sterling Vance had unilaterally canceled the contract that morning. I listened carefully to the explanation.
I admired Grandma’s wisdom. She had foreseen and prepared for even the worst-case scenario with her family. As the afternoon progressed, and the house was half empty, it started to be furnished with much more elegant new furniture from the warehouse of Grandma’s company.
I proceeded to execute the next phase of the plan. Grandma instructed me to send a message to Malik. I typed the message on my phone with firm hands.
The phrase was short and designed to provoke Malik’s nature. I wrote that Grandma hadn’t been breathing for an hour, that her body was cold and stiff, and that I was too scared to be alone in the house. I asked what I should do and begged Malik to come back soon.
I pressed send and left the phone on the table. We waited patiently, and Grandma Hattie also watched the phone screen. After one, two, five minutes, the phone vibrated.
There was a reply from Malik. I opened the message and read it out loud so Grandma and the attorney could hear. Malik’s response was something one wouldn’t expect from a human being with a conscience.
He wrote to me not to get nervous and not to make a scene by calling the neighbors. He ordered me to wrap Grandma’s body in any cloth and leave it in the room. Malik made an excuse, saying his business matter wasn’t finished yet and he could only return in two days.
At the end of the message, Malik added not to call again because the signal there was bad. Mr. Sterling Vance shook his head, visibly disgusted by the content of the message. Grandma Hattie simply snorted.
Her expression was blank, but her eyes burned. For her, that message was the final nail in the coffin of Malik’s future. There was no longer any doubt about destroying her own grandson.
I replied with a double-meaning phrase: “All right, honey, I’ll take care of everything here. See you then.”
I put the phone down. My face was now cold without a trace of sadness. I turned to Mr. Sterling Vance and nodded firmly.
The transformation of the house continued even more aggressively. Dusty rugs were removed and replaced with thick, luxurious carpets. Old curtains were taken down and replaced with elegant silk ones.
Dirty walls were repainted quickly with odorless, fast-drying paint. In less than twenty-four hours, the humble, dark, and gloomy house had been transformed into a luxury residence emanating an aura of authority. This was no longer the house of Malik, the unemployed.
This was the temporary lodging of Chairwoman Harriet Sterling Pendleton, a tycoon who had risen from the dead. And in this house, the stage for the final judgment of Malik and Mrs. Eloise was perfectly set. I looked at the front door, imagining my husband’s look of astonishment later.
I eagerly waited for that day to arrive.
That morning, the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the windows felt different than usual. Normally, the light only revealed dust motes floating in the cluttered living room filled with Mrs. Eloise’s useless junk. But today, the light illuminated a frantic and amazing activity that completely changed the atmosphere.
Since the first truck arrived at dawn, the house seemed to have been invaded by an army of disciplined ants. Under the direction of the taciturn but extremely efficient Mr. Sterling Vance, dozens of workers in neat uniforms moved quickly and quietly. They weren’t just cleaning; they were erasing traces.
The footprints of Malik’s laziness, the marks of Mrs. Eloise’s greed, and the traces of pain that had clung to the walls for years were being torn out by the roots. I stood in a corner of the room, watching as the old sofa with the stuffing coming out was lifted by two burly workers. It was the place where Malik smoked and loafed all day.
They loaded it onto the trash truck. A strange satisfaction spread through my chest at the sight of that object disappearing. The sofa was a silent witness to how often I had been scolded for being slow to bring coffee and how often I had seen my husband sleeping soundly when I had to go to work early.
After the sofa, it was the turn of the tacky bookshelf full of Mrs. Eloise’s fake porcelain. She took great pride in that piece of furniture. Although the contents were just cheap imitations, she often bragged to guests.
Once the bookshelf was taken away, I felt the living room had suddenly doubled in size. It was as if the house had been suffocating from visual trash for a long time and was finally breathing. Along with the physical transformation of the house, an even more surprising change was taking place in the back room.
Grandma Hattie, known by the neighbors as a smelly and pitiful old woman, was undergoing a stunning metamorphosis. Mr. Sterling Vance had hired a personal stylist and a costume designer who only worked for high society. Now, in the clean room smelling of freshly installed lavender, Grandma Hattie sat in front of a large new mirror.
I almost didn’t recognize her. Her white hair, which used to be a mess, was now styled in a modern, elegant, and orderly fashion. This revealed the line of her neck, where some of her youthful beauty still remained.
Her wrinkled face had been contoured with subtle but strong makeup, covering the paleness of her illness and accentuating her majestic jawline. She was no longer wearing the old nightgown full of food stains. Her body was now covered in a modern silk suit of the highest quality.
The dark color of the dress gave her an air of elegance. An emerald green ring shone intensely on her ring finger, matching the brooch on her chest. These weren’t Mrs. Eloise’s imitation jewels.
These were real gems that could be worth the price of ten houses in that neighborhood. When she stood up and looked in the mirror, her posture was perfectly upright. The old wooden cane was discarded and replaced by a silver cane with a carved dragon’s head.
It looked more like a power accessory than a walking aid. I looked at her with respect and awe. What I had before me was no longer Grandma Hattie.
It was the true queen of business, Chairwoman Harriet Sterling Pendleton.
In the afternoon, after the house was redecorated with luxury, minimalist furniture brought directly from the Chairwoman’s private warehouse, I was called to the living room. On the gleaming black marble table, several important documents prepared by Mr. Sterling Vance had been spread out. I sat across from Grandma and the lawyer.
Mr. Sterling Vance handed me a gold pen. The first document was the divorce petition. I couldn’t hide the trembling sensation as I read the title.
For years, the word divorce had been a terrifying nightmare for me. It was something shameful that my family had drilled into me I had to endure. But today, remembering Malik’s cruelty, the document seemed to be my ticket to freedom.
I took a deep breath and steadied myself. Then I signed my name. My handwriting was firm, without the slightest hint of doubt.
The second document was much thicker. It was the power of attorney and transfer documentation for the management of the Sterling Social Welfare Foundation. Grandma explained that she was too old to handle the detailed operations.
She needed someone with a heart of gold and absolute honesty to continue her legacy. She didn’t trust her own children or grandchildren, but she trusted me. I politely declined, feeling inadequate for such a large responsibility.
But Grandma firmly took my hand. Her gaze softened, filled with deep trust. She said intelligence can be learned, but a true heart is a rare gift.
I finally nodded and signed the documents. At that moment, my identity changed. I was no longer a daughter-in-law who could be stepped on.
I was the confidant of one of the country’s biggest tycoons.
By nightfall, the final stage preparation was concluded. The house now looked like a five-star hotel lobby. Abstract and artistic paintings hung on the walls, and a beautiful crystal chandelier hung from the living room ceiling.
Where there had once been broken ceramic floor tiles, there was now a thick, soft Persian rug. All my personal belongings had been moved to the guest room, which had been transformed into a luxurious master bedroom. In contrast, the rooms Malik and Mrs. Eloise used were empty.
It was as if to emphasize they no longer had a place in that house. The workers had already left, and a different kind of silence remained. It was a silence full of expectation, like the calm before a great storm.
When night enveloped the neighborhood, I turned off all the main lights, plunging the house into deep darkness. Only the indicator lights of the electronics flickered dimly. According to the plan, we had to make Malik and his entourage think the house was still in mourning or empty.
I sat on a single sofa next to Grandma Hattie, who sat silently in a sumptuous armchair in the center of the living room. In the darkness, I could hear the loud beating of my own heart—not out of fear, but because of the adrenaline pumping. I imagined the faces of Malik, Mrs. Eloise, and Tanisha when they walked in.
I imagined their arrogance crumbling. Mr. Sterling Vance and the two burly personal bodyguards stood like statues in the dark corners of the room. They were almost invisible, but their presence gave me an enormous sense of security.
Grandma Hattie whispered to me, reminding me to stay calm and act as we had practiced. Her voice was very cold and cutting, like a scalpel. She said that tonight would be the most valuable lesson for her ungrateful grandson, a lesson they would never forget in their lives.
I nodded in the darkness, squeezing my sweaty hands, trying to draw courage from the figure of the old woman beside me. Outside, the chirping of crickets echoed, accompanying our wait. Time seemed to pass very slowly.
Every moment was painful and exciting at the same time. I took a deep breath, reaffirming myself with the scent of expensive perfume that now filled the house. I was ready to receive the uninvited guests.
I was ready to put an end to my own suffering that night.
When the clock hands hit ten at night, the familiar sound of a car engine approaching was heard. It was the SUV Malik had rented. The engine sound was a bit rough because Malik was a driver who didn’t know how to take care of vehicles.
The car stopped right in front of the front door. The headlights cut through the darkness of the yard, sweeping the front wall of the house, which was now painted an elegant gray. But Malik and his companion seemed too tired or not smart enough to notice the color change in the middle of the night.