That afternoon, I dressed in my best suit and took a taxi to the boutique where Brooke worked as a sales associate. It was an expensive store in the most exclusive mall in the city, the kind of place where she felt important because she attended to wealthy women.
What Brooke didn’t know was that I was wealthier than most of her clients.
I entered the store like any other customer and started looking at the clothes. Brooke was helping another woman, but when she saw me, her face changed completely.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in a hostile voice.
“I came to buy clothes,” I answered calmly. “Isn’t this your job, to help customers?”
The other client looked at us, confused by Brooke’s aggressive tone.
“Do you know this lady?” she asked.
“She’s my mother-in-law,” Brooke replied with contempt. “One who doesn’t know her place.”
“Oh,” I said, smiling. “Then I do know my place. My place is that of a woman with money who wants to spend it. Are you going to help me, or do I need to speak with your manager?”
Brooke turned red with rage, but she couldn’t make a scene in front of other customers.
“What do you want?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“I want to see that dress in the window,” I said, pointing to the most expensive one in the store. “The $6,000 one.”
Brooke’s eyes widened.
“$6,000?”
“Are you deaf? Yes, $6,000. Do you think I can’t afford it?”
Brooke went to get the dress, muttering insults under her breath. When she returned, she showed it to me with a look of annoyance.
“Here it is,” she said. “But I doubt you can afford it.”
I took out my platinum credit card and handed it to her.
“Charge it,” I said. “And while you process the payment, I want you to know something.”
Brooke took the card and walked to the cash register. When she swiped the card, the system not only approved the purchase, but also showed a credit limit that left her speechless.
“How?” she started to say.
“How can a poor old woman like me have a card like this?” I finished her sentence. “Very easily, Brooke. It turns out I’m not poor. I never was.”
I took out my phone and showed her the screen of my banking app. Brooke looked at the numbers and turned pale.
“This can’t be real,” she whispered.
“Do you see that number?” I asked, pointing to my bank balance. “That’s just one of my accounts. I have properties in Geneva, stocks in several companies, and more money than you’ll ever earn in your entire life working in this store.”
Brooke handed me back the card with trembling hands.
“Why did you never say anything?”
“Because I wanted Ethan to value me for who I am, not for what I have,” I replied. “But you both showed me that, to you, I am worth nothing. So, I decided to show you what you’re really going to lose.”
I took my bag with the dress and headed for the exit. But before I left, I turned back to Brooke.
“Oh, and one more thing. Ethan is going to lose his job next week, and the house you live in is no longer yours. So, I hope you have some savings because you’re going to need them.”
I left the store, leaving Brooke paralyzed behind the counter.
That night, Brooke came home trembling with rage and confusion. Ethan was in the living room drinking a beer and watching television, trying to forget the horrible day he’d had at work.
“Ethan,” Brooke shouted from the doorway, “your mother was at my work today.”
Ethan turned off the television and turned to face her.
“What? What for?”
“To humiliate me,” Brooke replied, throwing her purse on the floor. “She bought a $6,000 dress just to prove to me that she has money.”
Ethan frowned.
“$6,000? Brooke, my mom is a retired secretary. She doesn’t have $6,000 to spend on a dress.”
“That’s what we thought,” Brooke shouted. “But she showed me her bank account, Ethan. She has millions. Millions.”
Ethan fell silent, processing what he had just heard.
“That’s impossible,” he murmured. “I know my mother’s financial situation. She’s always been a middle-class woman.”
“She lied to you.” Brooke started pacing back and forth. “For years, she made you believe she was poor to manipulate you. She’s a sociopath.”
But Ethan was remembering things he had never questioned before. His mother had always had the exact amount of money for his emergencies. When he had appendicitis in college, she appeared with the money for the private surgery. When he wanted to buy his car, she had the money for the down payment. When he needed a suit for his graduation, she gifted it to him without any trouble.
“Brooke,” he said slowly, “I don’t think my mother ever lied to us about her money. We simply never asked.”
