Chapter 2 - Margaret’s Offer and the Real Estate Sign
That afternoon, I walked outside to check the mail, my mind still heavy from the morning's disrespect. Our neighbor, Margaret Bell, was heading down the sidewalk with her gardening shears. When she saw me, she waved warmly.
“Walter!” she called out, crossing the street. “I heard about your apple pie.”
I blinked in surprise. “My pie?”
Apparently, Margaret’s grandson had been visiting Noah the evening before and had managed to grab a slice before Vanessa discovered it. Margaret laughed, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t stop talking about it. Said it was the best apple pie he’d ever tasted in his life.”
“That might be an exaggeration,” I chuckled.
“I tasted what he brought home,” Margaret insisted with a smile. “No exaggeration at all. Listen, I’m hosting a small neighborhood garden lunch this weekend. Would you bake one for me?”
“Sure,” I agreed.
“I’ll pay you fifty dollars.”
I laughed out loud. “Fifty dollars for an apple pie?”
“It tastes just like the one my grandmother used to bake. That’s worth fifty dollars to me, Walter.”
For the first time all day, I genuinely smiled. Vanessa had looked at something I created with love and thrown it into the garbage without a second thought. Someone else tasted exactly the same thing and immediately recognized its true value. It was amazing how often life worked that way—blind fools missing what was right in front of them while others appreciated it.
Margaret headed back toward her home, and I reached into my pocket, feeling the folded house-rules sheet I had been carrying since the day I moved in. Then my eyes wandered across the street.
Directly opposite Ethan’s house stood a stunning, sprawling two-property estate beneath an enormous, majestic sycamore tree. It boasted a wide wraparound porch, large arched windows, a manicured lawn, and a three-car garage. And planted near the front sidewalk was a crisp white sign with bold black letters: FOR SALE.
I stared at the house. For the past several days, an idea had been quietly growing in the back of my mind. Until that moment, it had only been a passing thought. But standing beside the mailbox, looking at that magnificent sign, something shifted inside me.
The idea became a solid plan. And the plan suddenly had a strict deadline.
What Vanessa and Ethan still didn’t understand was that the “useless freeloader” living upstairs had options they had never bothered to imagine. And very soon, they were going to discover exactly how many millions of dollars sat quietly behind my faded flannel shirts and dented pickup truck.
That evening, while Vanessa and Ethan were watching television downstairs, I sat at the small desk in my cramped third-floor room. I opened my laptop—a sleek, high-end machine tucked safely inside my old canvas duffel bag—and logged into my secure private banking portal.
My accounts were managed by a dedicated wealth management firm in downtown Columbus. A quick glance at my primary portfolio confirmed what I already knew: between the sale of my commercial supply chain, decades of smart municipal real estate investments, and dividend-yielding stocks, my liquid assets alone exceeded eight million dollars, not counting commercial properties and land holdings across three states.
I picked up my smartphone and dialed a direct number.
“Marcus,” I said when the voice answered on the other end. “It’s Walter Hayes.”
“Good evening, Mr. Hayes,” Marcus, my lead financial advisor, replied promptly. “How can I assist you tonight?”
“I need you to contact the listing agent for the property at 414 Maple Ridge Drive tomorrow morning,” I instructed calmly. “Make a full cash offer at asking price. No contingencies, no delays. I want the closing finalized by the end of next week.”
There was a brief pause on the line, followed by the sound of rustling paper. “Maple Ridge Drive? Isn’t that right across the street from your son’s house?”
“It is,” I replied softly. “Let’s just say I’m looking for a change of scenery. And I want the title placed entirely in my name alone.”
“Consider it done, Mr. Hayes. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up first thing in the morning.”
May you like
I hung up the phone, leaning back in my squeaky chair as a cold, satisfied smile spread across my face. Ethan and Vanessa wanted a servant. They wanted someone to clean their floors, mow their lawn, pay them rent, and accept their degrading rules.
They were about to find out just how expensive a mistake treating your father like trash really was.
