Evelyn hadn’t anticipated much upheaval when her father, Harry, moved in with her and her two sons last year.
However, when he began holding secret online meetings behind closed doors, she sensed something was off.
What she discovered next was something nobody expected.
You know those instances when you believe you have life all figured out, only to be blindsided by something unexpected?
It prompts you to look back and marvel at how you missed the clear signs.
That was precisely what occurred for me last week.
Before I get into the details about my father’s enigmatic “chess club” and what my son overheard, let me set the stage.
I’m a single mother to two delightful, though occasionally troublesome, boys. After my marriage ended three years ago, I was granted full custody.
The process wasn’t as straightforward as it might seem; our separation was quite tumultuous, and it took me several months to come to terms with what had happened.
I won’t delve into the specifics today, but suffice it to say I was blindsided. I had heard the term “divorce” thrown around often, but I never imagined it would happen to me.
When you marry your high school sweetheart, you don’t envision your fairy-tale romance ending in heartache.
Anyway, the custody dispute was a drawn-out affair that left its marks on us all, but thankfully we’ve healed and progressed.
Nowadays, our little family of three has carved out a comfortable routine.
Make that four, since my dad moved in with us last year, and that’s where this story truly takes off.
About a year ago, I was in my kitchen, stirring my coffee while reflecting on how quiet the house felt with the boys at school.
In that moment, it hit me.
If I was feeling so alone, my dad must have been even more lonesome, living alone since Mom passed.
I instantly knew what I had to do.
I picked up my phone and called him.
“Hi, Evelyn,” he answered as if he had been expecting my call.
“Dad, I’ve been thinking,” I said, trying to keep it light. “How about moving in with us?”
There was a lengthy silence on the other end.
“Sweetheart, that’s kind of you, but I don’t want to be a burden,” he replied.
“You’re already busy with the boys.”
“Dad, you could never be a burden,” I insisted. “Ryan was just asking about you yesterday.
He misses his granddad.”
“Really?” I could hear him smiling.
“But, Evelyn, caring for me…”
“Would be a joy,” I interjected. “The guest room is just gathering dust. The boys would love to have you around, and honestly, I could use your advice sometimes.”
“But I’m doing perfectly fine here,” he replied.
“Remember our neighbor Mr.
Parker? He’s having a barbecue next week that I’m looking forward to.”
“Dad, please,” I interrupted.
“I genuinely need you here.”
After some back-and-forth, he finally agreed.
The day he moved in, he brought along his cherished checkered blanket, a worn silver-framed photo of Mom, and a box filled with memories.
I had encouraged him to bring anything that would make the guest room feel homier.
The boys were ecstatic.
Leo, my ten-year-old, helped arrange Grandpa’s books while Ryan took on the role of the official house tour guide, acting as if his grandfather hadn’t visited countless times before.
He even led Dad on an extensive tour of the neighborhood, highlighting the house of his best friend.
The initial months were fantastic. Having Dad around revitalized our home.
I relished cooking his favorite meatloaf on Sundays, and he always had the perfect advice whenever I felt overwhelmed with the boys.
Everything was wonderful… until about three months ago when he mentioned joining an “online chess club.”
At first, I thought nothing of it.
Chess seemed like an excellent hobby for my intelligent father.
But then things began to feel off.
He started having these long online meetings, sometimes two or three times a week.
What raised my eyebrows was that he always conducted them behind closed doors.
He even invested in noise-canceling headphones, which seemed a bit much for chess.
I kept quiet the first few times he shut the door during meetings, but after the seventh time, I couldn’t take it anymore.
He had been locked away for over two hours, so I knocked on his door.
“Dad? Is everything alright in there?” I asked.
“Can’t talk! Chess club!” he yelled back, not bothering to open the door.
Later that evening, when he finally emerged, I tried to play it cool.
“You know, Dad,” I started, “you could leave the door open.
We wouldn’t disturb you.”
He shuffled his feet, visibly uneasy.
“It’s about concentration, sweetheart. Chess requires total focus.”
I decided to let it slide, but the oddities continued to accumulate.
While cleaning his room one day, I stumbled upon textbooks on his nightstand.
Not chess strategy books, mind you. They were hefty tomes on economics, calculus, and psychology.
How odd, I thought.
What does calculus have to do with chess?
What’s my dad really up to?
When I questioned him about them, he mumbled something about chess needing “a well-rounded education.”
I admit it sounded strange, but I didn’t push him further. I just nodded and moved on.
Then came the peculiar credit card charges.
I noticed them while helping him manage his accounts. It surprised me when these recurring payments started cropping up.
They were labeled as “educational resources” and “payment plans.”
When I asked him about these charges, he brushed it off with a vague explanation about some “club dues.”
Everything reached a climax last week when Dad was having another one of his “important club meetings.”
The boys and I were watching TV in the living room when Ryan, my little investigator, decided to do some sleuthing.
I jokingly wished him luck as he tiptoed down the hallway, thinking he was just playing around, but my heart raced when he returned a few minutes later.
He wore a worried expression.
“Mom,” he whispered.
“I think Grandpa’s in trouble.”
My heart raced. “What makes you say that, sweetie?”
“He was talking about money and mentioned doing better on his next project.
That doesn’t sound like chess, Mom.”
That night, I hardly slept.
My mind raced with the stories of seniors falling victim to online scams. Was my father being exploited?
Had someone persuaded him to invest in a scam?
The thought of him losing his savings filled me with dread.
The next morning, I decided it was time for a serious talk.
I waited until the boys left for school, brewed two cups of coffee, and sat Dad down at the kitchen table.
“Dad,” I began, gripping my mug tightly, “we need to discuss this chess club.”
He froze mid-sip. “What about it?”
“Well, for starters, since when do chess clubs require psychology textbooks and payment plans?” I looked him straight in the eye. “And Ryan overheard you talking about money and projects yesterday.”
Dad’s eyes widened, and I could see the shift from surprise to panic on his face.
Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled.
“Oh, honey,” he sighed, setting his coffee down.
“I suppose the gig is up.”
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