Luis glares at her, warning her with his eyes.
That tells you everything.
You lean back.
“Fine. I’ll talk. For four years, you have lived in my house without rent. For four years, I have paid your utilities, food, repairs, phones, insurance, and debts. Last night, at my seventieth birthday dinner, you served me dog food in front of guests and called me a freeloader in my own home.”
Luis rolls his eyes.
“Pa—”
You raise one hand.
“No. You spoke last night. Today you listen.”
He stops, more from shock than respect.
You continue.
“This morning, I discovered you attempted to use my card to pay for a maternity clinic and a senior residence. That tells me you are planning a life that requires my money, my house, and my absence.”
Karla sits down suddenly.
Luis stays standing.
Your son’s face changes again. His anger gets smaller, sharper. He is calculating.
