After My Family Stole My Devotion, My Brother's Boss Called Me Chairwoman

I cared for my paralyzed grandmother for eight years, but my brother stole my caregiving journals and passed off my work as his own to get into the Anthem Care Group. At the signing dinner, he forced me to admit I'd stolen money and abused an old woman, then slapped his job offer in my face. Someone who wipes crap and piss all day will never set foot in our company. The next second, the general manager stepped past him and pulled out the head seat for me. "Chairwoman Pruitt, the three-hundred-million eldercare project is ready to sign."

Chapter One

The lock turned six times in a row.

I'd just finished changing Grandma's pad when I came out to find six suitcases sitting in the living room.

My dad was directing Hudson to haul things inside.

"Master bedroom goes to Hudson and April Swanson. Your mom and I take the second room. Freda, you move into the living room. That way it's easier to look after the old woman at night."

The place had exactly two bedrooms. He said it without even glancing at me, as though where I ended up was nothing anyone needed to discuss.

April had already shoved my door open. She stood the folding cot against the wall, then grabbed the laptop off my desk and dumped it on top of the washing machine.

On the screen, the project meeting was still running.

"Chairwoman Pruitt, before we sign the community renovation project, we still need to keep"

She yanked the power cord straight out.

"One lousy customer-service call and it never ends."

The screen went dark. I stood there a moment before I reached over and closed the lid.

I picked up the laptop and said nothing. The project was still under confidentiality review, and I wanted to know toowhere all the files that kept vanishing from my computer would finally end up.

Grandma called for me from the bedroom.

The moment I stepped in, I saw Hudson propping up his phone, shoving a cup of water against her mouth. Grandma has trouble swallowing, and the water ran down her chin into her collar. Her chest jerked with the coughing, but he was too busy adjusting the frame to notice.

"Smile. A sour face hurts the watch-through rate."

Once he'd filmed the feeding and the leg-rubbing, he kicked the wet towel and the soiled pad over to my feet. Then he posted the video straight to the family group chat.

Day 2,920 by Grandma's side. From now on, it's my turn to protect you.

The second uncle liked it right away.

Hudson's such a good grandson. Not like some peopleliving in the old woman's house, spending the old woman's money.

I stared at those numbers for two seconds.

2,920 days is exactly how long I'd cared for Grandma, not one day short. Hudson had been home for three hours.

At dinner, my dad spread out the housing-allocation chart.

"One unit for me and your mom, one for Hudson when he marries. The last one gets sold, to fund his eldercare project."

At the very bottom was my name.

Freda Pruitt, houseguest for eight years. After deducting caregiving labor, still owes the family 0-046,000.

"And what about me?"

My dad rapped his knuckles on the table.

"You wipe crap and piss for your own grandmother and you want a salary too?"

Grandma snatched up a spoon and hurled it at him.

"The house is mine!"

Half her body wouldn't obey her, and the spoon only rolled under the table. My mom clamped a hand down on her.

"You're in this state now. Stop worrying about it."

Hudson smiled and opened an email.

Anthem Care Group, Regional Manager. Final-round interview notification.

"Four hundred grand a year. What they want is my eight years of experience caring for a paralyzed old woman."

Then he snapped a photo of a thick stackEight Years of Family Caregiving Journalswith the author listed as Hudson Pruitt.

The date of the stroke, the location of every bedsore, the intervals between turning her overevery word of it I had written down myself. Last week, it had vanished from my computer.

"You wrote this?"

He pressed a hand flat over the papers.

"It's all family property. Why split hairs over yours and mine? Caregiving is grunt work. Being able to write it all upthat's the real skill."

The hand I'd started to reach out stopped. Grabbing it back would mean nothing. I only took a photo of the document's reference number.

Grandma suddenly called out to me.

"Freda, where's my card?"

Under the pillow, the cloth pouch that held her bank card was empty.

April, meanwhile, raised her wrist in her livestream, the new gold bracelet flashing hard.

"Sixty-eight grand. A little welcome gift from Grandma."

I switched off the livestream light.

"Give Grandma's bank card back."

My mother slapped the card down on the table.

"I took the card. Hudson's getting married, and it's only right for Grandma to help her grandson out. You're a granddaughter who'll marry out sooner or later. Who are you to have a say?"

Grandma's mouth trembled, she was so upset.

"I never gave it away"

My mother pushed her back down.

"It's only sixty-eight thousand. And going forward it's Hudson who'll be looking after you in your old age."

Grandma's medication was down to a single day's supply. I fronted the cost myself, then, keeping to the old bookkeeping method, transferred six hundred eighty dollars back into the eldercare account.

Five minutes later, Hudson posted a transfer screenshot in the family group chat, with the note cropped out.

Grandma's money barely lands and she moves it out faster than anyone.

I pulled up the full statement. All I had to do was send it, and it would at least explain those six hundred eighty dollars. But my finger hovered over the send button, and I backed out again.

If they were bold enough to build a case out of one medication payment, they wouldn't have prepared just one screenshot.

By the time I got back from buying the medicine, the living room was packed with relatives and neighbors.

My mother pointed at me and wept.

"Eight years! We thought she was worn out caring for the old woman. Turns out she was lying on top of her, sucking her dry!"

Hudson grabbed my laptop bag and dumped everything onto the floor, the charger cable, the medical records, the medicine boxes. April held up her phone, the lens right against my face. My father threw open the wardrobe and flung out my clothes one by one.

My mother fished the bank card out of my coat.

"Found it!"

"A thief in the family is the hardest to guard against."

"No wonder she wouldn't leave for eight years."

Inside her room, Grandma pounded the bed rail with everything she had.

"It wasn't Freda, it was Olive Lambert who took it!"

The more frantic she got, the less she could get the words out, and not a single person in the living room turned to look.

My mother gripped the card, and her eyes slid away from mine. In that moment I understood, they'd known all along exactly where this card was going to be "found."

My father brought out Grandma's ID and bankbook, then spread a blank sheet of paper on the table.

"Mom, press your thumbprint here. From now on Hudson will keep everything safe."

Grandma balled her hand into a fist, and my mother pried her fingers open one by one.

I reached out and stopped her.

"A thumbprint on a blank page. What are you planning to fill in above it?"

My father shoved me hard. My lower back hit the corner of the table, glass drove into my palm, and blood welled up fast between my fingers.

He only tucked the paper behind his back.

"A little cut, and you want to shake down your own father?"

Hudson crouched down in front of me.

"Anthem's background check weighs family testimony most of all. Talk out of turn, and I'll hand in the fact that you stole from the eldercare fund. I'll make sure no one in this whole eldercare industry dares to hire you."

When he finished, he kicked the scattered medicine boxes a little farther out of my reach.

I bound up the wound, walked into the kitchen, and opened the home security dashboard.

On the screen, my mother tucked the bank card into my coat, my father forced Grandma's thumbprint, and Hudson stood outside the door coaching April on how to film the "catch the thief" livestream.

I backed it up section by section, then logged into the group's review system.

In Hudson's application package, besides the stolen journals, there was a Sole Support-Obligation Statement. Grandma's thumbprint was bright red, dated today.

I didn't reject it. I only clicked "reinforced audit."

A cheer went up from the living room right away.

Hudson had gotten the message that he'd passed the final interview.

"Once I'm regional manager, whoever wants a subsidized apartment in this community, whoever wants to land a project, they'll all have to answer to me."

My father laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"First thing, cancel your sister's caregiving status. An outsider, she's not getting a single cent out of the Pruitt family."

The next morning, not one of Grandma's pills was missing.

Not because they'd given them to her. They hadn't fed her a single one.

April was in front of the mirror, pressing on false lashes.

"Brand review's today. The pills make her drowsy, and that looks terrible on camera."

In the bedroom, Hudson had already dressed Grandma in a red coat. Her face was gray, her lips cracked and peeling. When she saw me, her fingers twitched against the blanket.

April spotted the catheter bag and frowned.

"That's disgusting on camera. Pull it out."

I clamped a hand around her wrist.

"You can't pull that."

She agreed to my face. Then, the moment I turned to grab the fixation clip, she yanked the connector tube loose. Grandma shuddered all over, a cry of pain forced up out of her throat.

I'd barely finished resealing the connection when Hudson scooped Grandma up.

"Ten minutes downstairs for the shoot. It won't kill her."

I chased them down. By the time I reached the yard, Grandma was already propped up in front of the flower bed, a ring of neighbors gathered to watch.

April aimed the camera at her.

"Grandma, which grandchild do you love best?"

Grandma's face was bloodless. She managed only one word.

"Freda..."

"Again."

Sitting wasn't moving enough for April. She wanted the shot: eight years paralyzed, and her grandson's love makes her stand again.

I rushed over.

"She can't stand!"

Grandma's legs buckled, and she pitched forward off the step, wheelchair and all.

I threw myself over her and covered her head. The wheelchair slammed into my back, and the corner of my forehead struck the concrete. My vision went white first, then blood ran down into my eyes.

April was still holding up her phone.

"Hudson, lift her one more time. The shot shook just now."

Grandma convulsed in my arms, her lips going purple.

"Call an ambulance!"

My mother came running down, and the first thing she did was grab for the phones.

"Delete it, hurry, don't ruin Hudson's job offer!"

My father pointed at me and shouted to the neighbors.

"She was jealous of her brother, so she shoved the wheelchair down on purpose!"

At the hospital, the doctor said the stopped medication plus the botched catheter removal had nearly killed her.

They stitched my forehead. I'd just reached the door of the ward, the anesthetic still working, half my face numb. The door wasn't shut all the way, and I heard my mother inside, coaxing Grandma.

"Mom, just press here. Hudson signs tomorrow. We can't do it without this statement."

The drugs hadn't worn off Grandma yet; she couldn't even keep her eyes open. My father gripped her hand and pressed it to the document while Hudson filmed beside him.

"Grandma voluntarily names me as her sole caregiver. Her granddaughter has abused her for years and is unfit to live with her."

I pushed the door open and started recording.

Hudson lunged at me and smashed the phone hard against the floor.

"At tomorrow's project signing, you'll admit in front of everyone that you stole the money and that you pushed Grandma down the stairs."

He pointed at the bandage on my forehead.

"Refuse, and I hand the edited video to Anthem. You'll never land another caregiving job again."

I picked up the phone.

Under the shattered screen, the cloud upload had just finished.

The day Grandma was discharged, twenty banquet tables were set out downstairs at the old house for her birthday.

I had ordered the food. I had paid the deposit.

But the banner overhead read differently.

Devoted Grandson Hudson Pruitt: Eight Years Guarding His Paralyzed Grandmother.

I had just helped Grandma out of the car when Hudson snatched the wheelchair away.

"The cameras are rolling. Step aside."

He wheeled her down the red carpet while applause broke out below. On the big screen, the tribute video began to play.

Hudson holding a cup to her lips. April rubbing her legs. My mother wiping her face. Every shot lasted only a dozen seconds. Then the picture cut to me, throwing myself over Grandma as she fell down the steps.

They had cut out pulling the catheter, stopping her medication, forcing her to stand. All that was left was the image of me pinning her down on the ground.

The caption read: Long-term caregiver loses control, deliberately harms elderly woman. The crowd erupted into curses.

My father took the microphone and sighed.

"All these years Freda has been skimming Grandma's eldercare money, and now she's abusing her. We can't keep covering for her."

My mother brought over an ink pad and three documents.

An apology for stealing the eldercare funds.

A statement giving up the old house and any relocation benefits.

An admission that Hudson was the only person supporting Grandma.

"Just sign. The Anthem executives are here today. Don't wreck things for your father and your brother. Admit your mistake, and your mother can still leave a bowl of rice on the table for you."

I flipped through the pages.

"And if I don't sign?"

April went straight upstairs with a few people and threw my clothes, my laptop, and my folding cot out into the rain.

The cardboard box hit the standing water and burst, scattering Grandma's medical records and eight years of my handwritten notes across the ground. The pages soaked up the muddy water, the ink bleeding out line by line. My laptop hit the pavement, the case splitting open.

I rushed to catch them. Hudson blocked me.

"From today on, this is the Pruitt house. Thieves aren't welcome."

Rain soaked through the gauze on my forehead, and the scabbed-over cut on my palm split open again, blood sliding off my fingertips into the mud.

Behind me came the sharp knock of a wheelchair against the ground. With the one hand she could still move, Grandma slapped hard at the armrest.

"The house is Freda's! Get out, all of you!"

My mother bent down to soothe her.

"Once Hudson's in at Anthem, we'll be able to move into a brand-new eldercare home."

Grandma shook all over with rage, but my mother had already turned to go greet the executives from Anthem.

Hudson pulled out a gilded offer letter and patted my cheek with it.

"Regional manager at the Anthem Care Group, conditional offer. Four hundred grand a year, running the whole district."

His eyes swept over the medical records in the mud.

"So you can wipe an old woman down. So what? From now on, if you ever want to pick up a single caregiving job, you go through me first."

"Someone like you will never get into our company. Not in your whole life."

The whole scene went quiet.

More than a dozen black company cars pulled up along the road, and the Anthem Care Group project team came walking over under umbrellas.

My father hurried up to them clutching the bid packet.

"Sir, this is the proposal from our Ken Pruitt Renovation Crew. A thirty-million renovation project. No one has more experience than we do."

Rain ran down the edge of the packet, and the cover showed the words Accessible-Home Renovation Proposal for Aging Communities.

Not even the font, the color scheme, or the page numbers had been changed.

It was the proposal I had spent four months on, working late into the night. The same file that had disappeared from my laptop along with the caregiving journals.

My father was still selling it eagerly.

"I designed this myself, based on eight years of experience caring for a paralyzed elder."

Hudson shoved his way in too.

"I'm the newly hired regional manager. We'll be colleagues from now on."

April held out a business plan.

"The promotion contract is already in final review. I planned today's whole tribute event myself."

The general manager didn't take anyone's materials.

He walked past Hudson, stepped into the standing water, and came straight to me.

His assistant picked up my laptop, and the project lead held the umbrella over Grandma.

The general manager pulled out the chair at the head of the table with his own hands.

"Chairwoman Pruitt, traffic was bad. Sorry we're late."