I never thought I’d hear those words from my own daughter-in-law’s mouth. Not in a million years.
“Oh, this is Martha, Michael’s mother,” Sophie said with that artificial laugh of hers. “Our little leech.”
The conversation at the corporate party froze for a second. I stood there, clutching my modest handbag, wearing the navy blue dress I’d saved for special occasions. The executives from the company where my son had worked for eight years exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“She’s always hanging around our house,” Sophie continued, her voice dripping with contempt. “Can’t seem to manage on her own since Michael’s father passed away.”
I felt my cheeks burn with humiliation. Five years since my husband, Robert, died, and this was how they saw me. A burden. A parasite. The worst part wasn’t the strangers’ pitying looks; it was Michael, standing there, saying nothing, a weak smile frozen on his face.
“I should find the lady’s room,” I murmured, desperate to escape. As I walked away, Sophie’s tinkling laughter followed me. “She’s always been this sensitive. We practically have to babysit her these days.”
The bathroom was mercifully empty. I gripped the marble countertop, staring at my reflection: a woman with graying hair and tired eyes. A woman they knew nothing about. If they only knew the truth. If Sophie only knew that the company whose anniversary they were celebrating, Westbrook Technologies, belonged more to me than to anyone else in that room.
I was the majority shareholder. I owned fifty-one percent of the company that paid for Sophie’s designer dresses and Michael’s luxury car. The company Robert and I had built from nothing. But I had promised Robert. On his deathbed, he had made me swear. “Don’t tell Michael,” he’d whispered, his voice already fading. “Let him make his own way. Let him earn his position without living in our shadow.”
I had kept that promise for five years. I’d attended board meetings quietly through a proxy. I’d lived simply in my small home, never touching the millions that were rightfully mine. And I had welcomed Sophie into our family, despite her obvious disdain for my modest lifestyle.
I splashed cold water on my face and straightened my shoulders. When I returned to the party, Sophie was holding court with the executive team, Michael at her side.
“There she is!” Sophie called out. “Martha, come tell everyone about your bridge club! It’s so adorable how you keep busy.”
I smiled politely. “It keeps my mind sharp.” What Sophie didn’t know was that my “bridge club” was a monthly meeting with my financial adviser, reviewing the performance of Westbrook Technologies.
Later, as we were leaving, I overheard Sophie whispering to Michael. “We need to talk about your mother. She can’t keep coming to these events. She’s embarrassing. You’re up for that promotion, Michael. We can’t afford these mistakes.”
My heart broke a little as my son sighed. “I’ll talk to her. Maybe it’s time to consider that retirement community we looked at.”
They didn’t see me standing there. On the drive home, watching the city lights blur through my tears, I made a decision. Robert never could have imagined Sophie. He never could have foreseen how she would poison Michael against me. Tomorrow, I would call James Patterson, the family attorney who managed my shares. It was time to rethink my approach. The leech was about to show her teeth.
The morning after the party, I sat at my kitchen table, staring at a photograph of Robert and me on the day we opened the first Westbrook Technologies office—a converted storage room with two desks and a dream. The doorbell rang. It was James Patterson, his leather briefcase in hand.
“You sounded upset on the phone,” he said as I led him to the living room.
I poured out everything: Sophie’s cruel words, Michael’s silence, their plans to ship me off to a retirement community.
“It’s been five years, Martha,” he finally said. “Maybe it’s time to tell Michael the truth.”
“I made a promise,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
James reached over and patted my hand. “Robert was a good man, Martha. But he couldn’t have foreseen this situation.”
As we began discussing possibilities, I felt something stirring within me. Not vengeance, but a quiet determination. It was time for some changes at Westbrook Technologies.
The following week, I visited the headquarters, not as the majority shareholder, but as Michael’s mother bringing him lunch. He led me to a small breakroom instead of his office; he didn’t want colleagues seeing his unfashionable mother.
“You look tired, sweetheart,” I said, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.
He sighed. “Big project. And Sophie’s been stressed, too. She’s got her heart set on that house in Lakewood Estates, and we can’t afford it unless I get this promotion.”
I knew Lakewood Estates—multi-million-dollar homes. Far above Michael’s current salary.
After lunch, I took a detour. Sophie’s voice drifted from a conference room door, slightly ajar. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Curious, I paused.
“Trust me, David, it’s a perfect arrangement,” Sophie’s tone was intimate. “Michael gets the promotion, you get the contract, and I make sure everyone’s happy.”
A man’s voice, low and amused. “And how exactly do you plan to convince the board?”
“Michael has a presentation next week,” she laughed. “I’ve helped him prepare it. Michael sees what I want him to see. He’s so desperate for approval, it’s almost too easy.”
I leaned against the wall, blood pounding in my ears. She was manipulating my son, using him as a pawn.
The day of the board meeting arrived with a pounding rainstorm. I stared at my reflection, barely recognizing myself. Gone was the simple Martha. I wore a charcoal gray suit, my hair cut into a sleek bob, my face enhanced with subtle makeup. I looked like exactly what I was: a powerful businesswoman who owned 51% of a successful tech company.
The Westbrook Technologies boardroom fell silent as I entered. Michael sat near the middle of the table, looking nervous. At the far end sat Sophie and a handsome man in his early forties—David Reynolds, I presumed.
“And this must be Mr. Wilson,” said Richard Foster, the board chairman, using the name of my long-time proxy.
“Here to observe today’s proceedings,” Sarah, my former CFO and current proxy, supplied smoothly.
I nodded politely and took a seat. Michael was staring at me with a slight frown, as if trying to place my face.
Finally, Richard announced, “Next item: presentation on the proposed Asian market expansion by Michael Westbrook.”
Michael stood. As he began, I could see Robert in him—the same earnest intelligence. But I also saw something Robert never had: an undercurrent of desperation. The numbers he projected were ambitious, bordering on fantasy.
“Very impressive, Michael,” David Reynolds said when he finished. Sophie beamed with manufactured pride.
I’d heard enough. I cleared my throat softly, and the room fell silent. “Mr. Westbrook,” I said, addressing my own son formally, “your enthusiasm is commendable. However, I see several flaws in your proposal.” I proceeded to ask pointed questions about his market analysis and risk assessment. With each question, Michael’s confidence visibly deflated.
“Who exactly are you to question this?” Sophie finally interrupted. “Michael has worked extremely hard on this!”
“Sophie,” Michael muttered, embarrassed.
“No, Michael,” she snapped. “Some mysterious shareholder who never bothers to show up suddenly appears and starts undermining you. That’s not right!”
I met her gaze steadily. “Mrs. Westbrook, I’m simply doing due diligence as a major investor. Your husband’s proposal risks millions on projections that appear to have been influenced by outside interests.” I glanced meaningfully at David. “I move that we table this proposal pending further review.”
The vote was quick and decisive. Michael’s proposal was tabled. As the meeting adjourned, Sophie stormed out. Michael lingered, looking defeated.
“Mr. Westbrook,” I said, approaching him, “your basic concept has merit. The execution needs work.”
He looked up, surprised. “Thank you, Ms. Wilson. I’d appreciate that.” As I turned to leave, he added, “Have we met before? You seem familiar.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Perhaps in passing. I knew your father.”
I barely slept. By morning, my phone rang. “Martha, we have a situation,” James said. “Sophie’s made a move. She’s convinced Michael to call an emergency board meeting for tomorrow. They’re proposing a restructuring.” He paused. “And she’s somehow gotten wind that Mr. Wilson is connected to you.”
The doorbell rang. It was Michael, his expression stormy.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” he demanded, pushing past me. “Or was the plan to keep lying to me forever?”
“Michael, please, let me explain.”
“Explain what? That you’re ‘Mr. Wilson’? That you’ve owned the company all this time? That my entire career has been a joke?”
“It was your father’s wish,” I said. “He wanted you to succeed on your own merits.”
“Sophie hired a private investigator,” he said. “She thought there was something strange about this Wilson person.”
“Michael,” I said gently, “have you looked into David’s background? His track record?”
“Sophie did the research.”
I moved to my desk and pulled out a folder. “I think you should do your own.”
He took it, hesitation warring with anger. I watched him process everything: the lies, the manipulation, his father’s love, his wife’s greed. At the door, he paused. “The board meeting is at 9:00 tomorrow,” he said. “I suppose you’ll be there.”
“I will,” I confirmed. “As myself this time. No more proxies.”
The Westbrook Technologies boardroom fell silent as I walked in. No disguise today, just Martha Westbrook in a simple but elegant navy suit.
“What is she doing here?” Sophie hissed loudly. “This is a closed board meeting.”
“It’s quite all right, Richard,” I said calmly to the chairman. “I believe you’ll find I have every right to be here.”
James Patterson entered behind me. “Mrs. Westbrook is here in her capacity as majority shareholder,” he announced. “She holds 51% of the company shares.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room. All eyes turned to Michael, who sat rigid, his expression unreadable.
“Michael,” Richard said, gathering himself, “you called this meeting to propose a restructuring.”
Michael cleared his throat. “Actually, in light of recent information, I’d like to propose a different agenda.” Sophie whipped her head around to stare at him. “Michael, stick to the plan!”
He ignored her, looking down at the folder I’d given him. “I spent last night doing additional research. About our company’s history, about David Reynolds’s business record.” He looked up, his gaze moving from Sophie to David, then to me. “I found some troubling inconsistencies.”
He turned to Sophie. “The projections in my proposal were based on manipulated data. Data you helped prepare.”
Sophie’s face flushed. “You’re being ridiculous! I was helping you!”
“Were you?” Michael challenged. “Or were you helping David secure a multi-million-dollar consulting contract?”
David stood abruptly. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this!”
“Actually, you do,” I interjected, “because the board should also know about your previous relationship with International Tech Partners, the company you recommended as our Asian manufacturing partner.” James distributed more documents. “A company where you were previously a silent partner and still receive consulting fees.”
Michael stood slowly. “I withdraw my proposal and recommend we sever all ties with Reynolds Consulting.”
“Michael!” Sophie grabbed his arm. “You’re ruining everything!”
He pulled away. “No, Sophie. I’m stopping us from making a terrible mistake.” He turned to face her fully. “Just like I’m stopping us from making a terrible mistake about my mother.”
Her expression turned venomous. “Your pathetic mother has been lying to you for years!”
“My mother,” Michael said quietly, “has been honoring my father’s wishes while protecting the company they built together.” He looked at me, his eyes softening. “Something I’m only beginning to understand.”
Finally, Michael and I were alone in the boardroom. “I’m still angry with you,” he said. “You should have told me.”
“I know,” I admitted. “I was afraid if I told you, I’d lose you.”
“Instead, you almost lost me to Sophie’s manipulations.” He came around the table and took the seat beside me. “What happens now?”
I reached for his hand. “That’s up to you. Your father wanted you to make your own way, and you have.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I packed a bag this morning.”
Two months later, I sat in the same boardroom, watching with pride as Michael presented a new, carefully researched proposal. Sophie was gone. David Reynolds had disappeared. Michael had moved into the guest house on my property, reconnecting with his roots, with the legacy his father and I had built.
“Mom,” he said thoughtfully that evening as we sat on the back porch, “I’ve been thinking about the company name. Everyone associates Westbrook with Dad, but you were always there, too. Maybe it’s time for a small change.”
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
“Westbrook and Wilson Technologies,” he suggested, honoring both legacies.
I felt tears prick my eyes. “Your father would like that.”
“And the mysterious ‘Mr. Wilson’?” Michael asked with a small smile. “Will she make any more appearances?”
I laughed softly. “I don’t think so. Martha Westbrook is finally ready to step into the light.”