Step aside, grandma, the adults are talking about real money now

Tyler slid a document across the table. ‘It’s a quitclaim, Nana. Sign over the old house onMercer Street. The land’s worth something to my development group, and frankly, you can’t afford the property taxes anymore.’ His investors chuckled. One of them, a man in a charcoal suit named Mr. Hollis, didn’t laugh. He was staring at me, his face slowly draining of color.

I reached into my canvas tote, the one with the frayed strap, and pulled out a thin leather folder. ‘Tyler, sweetheart, before I sign anything, I’d like to introduce myself properly to your partners.’ I turned to Mr. Hollis. ‘Gerald. It’s been a long time.’

Tyler’s smirk faltered. ‘You two know each other?’

Gerald Hollis stood up so fast his chair rolled backward. ‘Mrs. Whitaker. I— I didn’t realize Tyler’s grandmother was *the* E. M. Whitaker.’

‘E. M. Whitaker Holdings,’ I said gently, sliding the folder open. ‘I’m the majority silent partner in Hollis Capital. I have been since 1998. I’m also, as of last Tuesday, the controlling shareholder of this little startup of yours, Tyler. Your Series B? That was my money. I wanted to see what kind of man you’d become when you thought no one important was watching.’

The room went silent. Tyler’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

‘The house on Mercer Street isn’t mine to sign away anymore. I deeded it last month to the women’s shelter that took your mother in when you were three. The same shelter you tried to evict last quarter for your parking lot.’ I stood, smoothing my cardigan. ‘Gerald, pull my funding. All of it. Effective immediately. And Tyler?’ I paused at the door. ‘The adults are done talking now. Go home and learn some manners.’

The investors were already gathering their coats. Tyler just stared at the quitclaim, his designer watch suddenly looking very, very cheap.