For Fourteen Years My Son Lived Rent-Free in a House He Believed Was His

“Robert.

I was hoping you’d be asleep by now.”

“I’m sitting on the bed,” I said.

“Brandon took me aside in the cemetery parking lot.”

Through the speaker I heard the familiar sound of Margaret tapping her silver pen twice on a yellow legal pad before she answered.

“What did he tell you?”

“He said I need to become financially independent,” I said.

“He said I ought to stop taking money from the corporate ledger.”