This morning Camille was dancing around the apartment, talking baby names and nursery designs. She left for her full spa day while I went to meet Mr. Brennan, Mr. Gallagher, and two detectives at the house.
At 2:15 p.m. she arrived at the title company glowing, red nails, air-kissing everyone, rubbing her fake pregnant belly.
The title agent started the paperwork, then paused: “There seems to be an issue. This property is in an irrevocable trust.”
Camille laughed it off. Then Mr. Brennan stood up and revealed he is the trustee and never approved any sale.
Her face went white. Detectives walked in. She tried to run in her designer heels.
The meltdown was biblical. She screamed that I was a pathetic mama’s boy, that she deserved the money for “putting up with me for 7 years,” and even insulted my dead mother.
They arrested her on the spot for felony fraud, forgery, identity theft, and more.
She tried the fake pregnancy card one last time. I showed the detectives the tampon receipt. They smirked.
Six weeks later: She took a plea deal — 3 years probation, 6 months house arrest, restitution, and a permanent felony record. Her affair with Phipe (the brand consultant) came out — he was the mastermind planning to run away with the money to Europe. When he threw her under the bus, she violated probation harassing him and now faces real jail time.
The divorce was fast and brutal. She got nothing. Her parents won’t speak to her. She’s now working as a receptionist at a gym in a studio apartment.
Mom’s house is safe in the trust. I visit when I need peace. I helped our old cleaning lady Lucia start her own business — she now has five employees and sends me pictures of her happy kids.
The lessons were expensive, but I learned them: trust your gut, document everything, and never sign anything without reading it — especially from someone you love.
Mothers really do know best.
P.S. Mr. Brennan framed the forged deed and hung it in his office next to his law degree. He calls it the most expensive art he owns.
