Chapter 3 - The One Call
The next morning, I made one call.
Not to my parents.
Not to Margot.
Not to Nolan.
I called Rebecca Shaw.
Rebecca had been my parents’ accountant for almost ten years.
She had spent most of those years asking Leonard why he refused to hire professional management.
I finally had an answer for her.
“He didn’t need to.”
“Why not?”
“Because he had me.”
Rebecca was quiet.
Then she asked what happened.
I told her about Willa.
The $5,000 checks.
The dollar.
The note.
Rebecca exhaled slowly.
“Karen.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“What?”
“I’ve told your father for years that the amount of work you perform has significant value.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much?”
“At least thirty thousand dollars annually if they hired a full-service manager.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Thirty thousand?”
“Probably more with the bookkeeping you do.”
I thought about eight years.
Birthday parties interrupted by tenant calls.
Vacations spent answering repair texts.
Nights driving across town because Leonard said calling an emergency plumber was too expensive.
Rebecca continued.
“If you’re resigning, do it formally.”
“I am.”
“I’ll send you the language.”
Then she said something I had not expected.
“And Karen?”
“Yes?”
“Make sure you remove yourself as authorized contact from every insurance policy, municipal account, utility account, and vendor relationship.”
“Why?”
“Because right now, they have responsibility without competence.”
“And you have competence without authority or protection.”
“That is a dangerous combination.”
By noon, I had sent my parents a formal notice.
Effective immediately, I would no longer manage, coordinate, supervise, schedule, negotiate, collect, organize, or respond on behalf of Bennett Properties.
I attached a complete transition file.
Every tenant phone number.
Every lease.
Every contractor.
Every renewal date.
Every password that legally belonged to them.
I gave them the contact information for three professional management firms.
I did not sabotage anything.
I did not hide anything.
I simply stopped working for free.
At 12:43 P.M., my father called.
At 12:44, my mother called.
At 12:45, Margot called.
At 12:51, Nolan texted.
WHAT DID YOU DO?
I turned off my phone.
At 3:10, Rebecca emailed me.
There was an attachment.
Karen, I found something while reviewing the transition.
Call me immediately.
I called.
Rebecca answered on the first ring.
“Your parents owe you money.”
I almost laughed.
“For what?”
“Not wages.”
Her voice became serious.
“Do you remember the emergency repairs on the Brookline property three years ago?”
“Yes.”
“You paid them personally.”
“I was supposed to be reimbursed.”
“You never were.”
My smile disappeared.
“How much are we talking about?”
May you like
Rebecca paused.
“More than eighteen thousand dollars.”
