The Housekeeper’s Daughter Called Me A Freeloading Stray In My Own Penthouse — She Had No Idea Whose Name Was On The Deed

Chapter 9

Georgette listened without interrupting. It was one of the things I had always valued about her — she had always known when to listen without filling the space.

“I’m terminating your employment,” I said. “Effective today. You’ll receive three months severance as per your contract. That’s not reduced — you worked those years and they’re yours.”

She nodded.

“The forty-seven thousand dollars is a debt, not a prosecution. I’m not filing criminal charges for the financial misconduct. You’ll repay it at a rate set by what you can actually manage — I’ll have Janet draw up a repayment schedule that accounts for your actual financial situation, not an idealized one. I want the account settled. I don’t want you destitute to settle it.”

Georgette was very still.

“The assault charges I filed with the police yesterday stand,” I said. “That is a matter between Cora, the responding officers, and the legal process. It’s not mine to drop, and I won’t intervene to make it disappear. What I will do, when asked, is speak to the circumstances — to the fact that Cora was acting on a deeply false set of beliefs that she was fed by a parent she trusted. That context will matter to the process. It won’t erase what she did, but it will be part of the record.”

“She’ll accept that,” Georgette said quietly. “She’ll have to.”

“Cora’s tuition for the remaining three years,” I said.

Georgette looked up sharply.

“I’m honoring it,” I said. “Not as a favor to you. Not out of sentiment. I’m honoring it because Cora did not choose to be raised on a lie, and removing her tuition now would punish her for your choices. She gets the three years. Under the following conditions: she completes the degree, she maintains academic standing, and she engages fully with whatever conduct process the university requires following yesterday’s incident. There were more than enough witnesses for this to reach their offices. She doesn’t fight it. She participates honestly.”

Georgette closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they were bright but controlled. “She’ll do it,” she said. “She’ll do all of it.”

“One more thing,” I said. “The estate.”

I looked around the kitchen — at the window with the garden view, at the small marks on the doorframe where my father had tracked my height every birthday until I was sixteen and started objecting, at the cabinet hinge that had always been slightly off and that my mother had always meant to fix and never had and that I had always meant to fix and never had and that I maintained in its imperfection as a small, private act of preservation.

“This house was my parents’,” I said. “I want it restored. Properly. Every damaged item, every burn mark, every stain. I’ll contract the work. It won’t come from your settlement.”

Georgette looked at me.

“I’m keeping this house,” I said. “I’m moving in at the end of the month. And I’m going to do it the way my mother would have wanted — with everything in its place and the garden looked after and the fountain running.”

I stood up and brought my cup to the counter.

“The document Janet drew up is on the kitchen counter. Read it, sign it, return it to Janet by the end of the week. If you have questions, she’ll answer them.”

I picked up my jacket.

“One more thing,” I said, and I reached into my pocket and held up the cloth pouch. “I’m having the pendant repaired.”

Georgette looked at it.

“There’s a technique,” I said. “Japanese. The fractures are filled with gold. The repair becomes part of the piece — you can see where it broke. You can see where it was put back together.” I folded my fingers around the pouch. “The specialist I spoke with said a piece repaired this way often has more value after the repair than it had before. Because the history becomes visible.”

I put the pouch back in my pocket.

“That’s the only kind of repair I’m interested in,” I said.