My Daughter Fed Me Poisoned Cake — What She Did Next At My Hospital Bed Was Worse
Part 2
“Then we list the house,” Megan continued, completely unfazed by the gravity of what she had just proposed.
Brian asked, the apprehension in his voice melting into eager anticipation.
“How much do you think we can get?”
“I looked up the comparable sales yesterday,” she replied briskly.
“That Scarborough neighborhood is gentrifying fast.”
“Developers are buying up those old lots for straight cash.”
“The house itself is total garbage, obviously.”
“It smells like sawdust and old man.”
“But the land is a massive corner lot right near the subway line.”
“We could easily get two million for it.”
“Maybe two point three if we manage to start a bidding war.”
Brian breathed, his awe completely erasing any lingering hesitation.
“Two million?”
“That clears our massive debt.”
“That pays off the condo completely.”
“That finally buys us the Lake Simcoe cottage we’ve been eyeing.”
“Exactly,” Megan said smoothly.
“Two million dollars, Brian.”
“All we have to do is wait for his stubborn heart to stop.”
“Honestly, he is doing us a massive favor by dying right now.”
“If he had lingered for years, he would have drained all that precious equity with expensive nursing home bills.”
I listened to them divide my life like starving wolves tearing over a fresh carcass.
They talked about my dependable old truck as nothing more than scrap metal.
They talked about my cherished hand tools as useless junk.
They didn’t know a single thing about Northstar Technologies.
They didn’t know about my hidden, high-yield investment accounts.
They didn’t know that the house they were so desperate to sell had already been placed in an irrevocable charitable trust months ago.
They knew absolutely nothing.
They certainly did not know that the man lying in the bed was wide awake, tracking their every greedy word.
A freezing coldness settled deep within my chest.
It was the quiet death of the very last shred of paternal love I ever held for Megan.
She was standing right there, nodding eagerly as her husband salivated over a real estate payout.
“Okay,” Megan said, clapping her hands together softly to signal the end of their morbid brainstorming session.
“Let’s go find the doctor.”
“We need to get this moving before the hospital shift change.”
“Put on your sad face, baby.”
“It’s showtime.”
They walked out of the room, leaving the heavy wooden door slightly ajar.
I opened my eyes, staring blankly at the stained ceiling tiles directly above me.
Two million dollars.
That was the price of my life.
I slowly lifted my right hand, turning it over to inspect the damage.
My thumb was bright red and severely swollen from the forceful bending.
There were still dark, stubborn traces of black ink buried deep in the creases of my skin.
I looked straight up at the tiny camera lens hidden inside the smoke detector.
I let my lips curl into a smile that was entirely cold and final.
They wanted a quick death and an easy, massive payout.
I was absolutely going to give them a payout.
It just wouldn’t be in dollars.
It would be in devastating, inescapable consequences.
I reached out with my uninjured hand, my fingers wrapping tightly around the plastic nurse call button.
I pressed the red button exactly three times in rapid succession.
It was the prearranged signal for Dan to bring the hammer down.
It was finally time to wake up and spring the trap.
What would you do if your own child tried to murder you for a quick real estate payout?
