I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 68: Barbara

The morning sun bathed a stately mansion in Malba, Queens, New York, in a warm golden light. The home was a picture of classic grandeur, boasting tall white columns at its entrance, intricate wrought-iron balconies, and expansive windows framed by pristine shutters. Manicured hedges lined the driveway, leading to a pair of imposing oak doors that hinted at the luxury within.

However, inside was a stark contrast to the exterior’s elegance. The mansion’s interior felt lifeless, almost haunting. The once-polished hardwood floors were scuffed and warped, and the ornate wallpaper hung in ragged strips, peeling away to reveal cracked plaster beneath. Dust coated every surface, and cobwebs claimed the corners of the high ceilings. The only piece of furniture in the vast, barren living room was a long, sagging couch positioned awkwardly in the center of the space.

Amid the desolation, raised voices filled the air, shattering the eerie silence.

"You did what?" a woman’s voice rang out, her tone sharp with shock and hysteria.

"I told you already," a man retorted, his voice low and simmering with anger. "You know I don’t like repeating myself."

Here’s a revised version of the scene with enhanced flow, grammar, and emotional depth:

The woman suddenly burst into laughter, the sound sharp and bitter. "You don’t—what? You’re insane, Joe. You know that, right?" she said, her words broken up by incredulous laughter, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. But her amusement was short-lived. She spun around to face him, her voice rising to a shout. "That was our last money, Joe! Our last fucking money! What are we supposed to do now?"

Joe’s face darkened, and he fired back, his voice dripping with disdain. "It was my money, and I can use it however I damn well please," he said dismissively, waving a hand as though her anger was nothing but an inconvenience.

"You bet it, Joe," she screamed, her voice cracking under the strain of frustration. "You bet the money we were supposed to manage—the money we needed to scrape by until one of us could find a job!"

Joe’s eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped into a sneer. "How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not getting a job. I’m a Longbottom. Generations of my family have been self-made millionaires, and I’m not going to tarnish that legacy by working some—some 9-to-5," he spat the words as though they were the most repulsive thing he’d ever uttered.

The woman’s hands trembled at her sides, and her face twisted with a mix of rage and despair. "Joe," she said, her voice rising to a scream, "your family money is gone! All of it—gone! You made sure of that!" She threw her arms out, motioning to the decaying house around them. "Just look at this place! We’re broke, Joe. Broke. Poor."

Joe winced at the words, but before he could respond, she began pacing back and forth, muttering under her breath. "What are we going to do now? How can we survive?" she whispered, her voice growing softer with each step, the weight of their predicament settling heavily on her shoulders.

"Maybe we could sell the house," Barbara began, her voice soft, as though testing the idea aloud. "Pay off some debts, get a smaller place—just for now—until we can get back on our feet." She nodded to herself, starting to pace again, the gears turning in her mind.

Joe, who had been leaning against the wall, snapped to attention. "What? Are you mad? There’s no way I’m selling this house!" he barked, his voice sharp with indignation.

Barbara froze mid-step and slowly turned to face him, her expression darkening. Her eyes burned with a fury that made Joe flinch, though he quickly masked it. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" she said, her voice low and venomous.

Joe swallowed hard but forced himself to stand his ground, puffing up with defiance. "No," he said firmly. "You’re the one joking. This house? It’s the one my parents left me. If you think I’d sell it just to go live in some rundown apartment, you must be completely out of your mind!"

Barbara’s composure snapped. She threw her arms in the air and screamed, "That’s it! I’m done! I’m fucking leaving! You hear me?" Her voice echoed off the bare walls as she stormed toward the stairs.

"Barbara, wait!" Joe called after her, his voice faltering now. The fire in her eyes shook him, and he stumbled after her, his tone desperate. "Barbara, please. I’m sorry. Don’t do this. I’ll change! I promise!"

She ignored him, storming up the creaking staircase, her footsteps pounding against the wood. Joe followed, nearly tripping as he reached the landing. "Please, Barbara! Don’t go!" he pleaded, chasing her into their bedroom, where the door slammed shut behind them.

Inside the room, which was as barren as the rest of the house save for a lonely mattress on the floor—a sad echo of the once-proud living space—Barbara moved with purpose. She yanked open a worn suitcase and began throwing in what few clothes she still had.

Joe stood in the doorway, watching her, his expression a mixture of desperation and disbelief. "Barbara, baby, please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Don’t do this. I’m sorry. You can’t leave me now."

But when his pleading failed to stop her, his tone shifted, anger creeping in. "Where do you even plan to go? You have no one but me! Don’t forget that!"

Barbara ignored him, snapping the suitcase shut with a loud click. She dragged it toward the door, but Joe stepped firmly in her path, blocking her exit.

"Get out of the way!" she screamed, her voice raw with frustration. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

Instead of moving, Joe’s face crumpled, tears welling up in his eyes. Without warning, he reached out and hugged her tightly. Barbara fought back, pushing against his chest, hitting him with closed fists, her punches landing with a dull thud. But Joe didn’t let go. He just stood there, silently enduring her fury.

Eventually, her resistance gave way to exhaustion. Her fists fell to her sides, and her shoulders shook as she broke down into sobs. Joe released her gently, and she sank onto the mattress, the only piece of furniture left in their once-beautiful home. He sat beside her, his eyes searching her face, wanting to comfort her.

Tentatively, he reached for her shoulder, but she jerked away, standing up abruptly. Her voice was thick with tears as she gestured around the room. "Just... look around, Joe," she said, her words trembling with heartbreak.

Joe’s gaze followed hers, taking in the emptiness. The room, once filled with elegant furniture and vibrant paintings, was now stripped bare, its former beauty lost to bill after unpaid bill. The peeling wallpaper and the cracks in the walls told a silent story of everything they had sacrificed, everything he had gambled away.

The weight of her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Barbara’s voice returned, sharp and biting, as she broke the silence. "We can’t even host Sunday dinners anymore, Joe. We’re too afraid our neighbors will see the state of things. We sold everything, lying to everyone that we were just redecorating—all because you wanted to maintain some stupid image that doesn’t mean anything!" Her words cut deep, each one landing like a slap to Joe’s heart.

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After a pause, Barbara knelt before him, lowering herself to his eye level. Her voice softened, pleading now. "Joe, please... we can’t go on like this. We have to do something."

Joe nodded slowly, his expression filled with a mix of guilt and resignation. "Yes, I know, baby," he murmured, his tone almost defeated.

Barbara’s eyes lit up with hope, a small smile breaking through her tears. "Oh, thank you, baby!" she said, standing quickly and rushing to her purse. "I met this realtor. She said she could get us a good deal on the house," she said, her voice lighter as she rummaged through her bag, searching for a business card.

At her words, Joe’s head snapped up. "What?" he asked, his tone low and dangerous.

Barbara, still searching her bag, continued, oblivious to his shifting mood. "The realtor," she repeated. "She said she could get us at least three million dollars for the house. With that, we could start fresh, maybe even start a new business!"

Joe’s voice erupted like thunder, startling her so much that she dropped her purse. "Are you mad?!" he shouted, standing abruptly.

Barbara froze, her body trembling as she turned to face him. His towering frame and furious expression made her voice falter. "But... but you just agreed we needed to change!" she screamed back, her own voice rising to match his.

"I said we needed to change," Joe snarled, his fists clenched at his sides, "but I will NOT sell this house! I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again—I’m not giving up the last thing my parents left me!"

The room seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with tension as their shouts echoed off the empty walls.

Joe’s expression darkened as his tone turned defensive and angry. "No," he said, his voice sharp. "You said we can’t go on like this. Well, guess what? I just made a massive bet that’s going to make us millions!"

Barbara’s eyes narrowed, her confusion mixed with disbelief. "What are you even talking about?"

Joe’s eyes lit up with a manic determination. "I bet on Mike Tyson beating Jake Paul. When that happens, we’ll be millionaires again, babe. Just trust me!"

Barbara stared at him, her mouth slightly open as if she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

"You don’t believe me, do you?" Joe continued, his frustration growing. "But trust me on this—Mike is a legend in the sport! There’s no way a YouTuber like Jake Paul could beat him. I honestly don’t know why the odds were so high. The betting sites must be dumb, or..." His voice took on a strange, almost reverent tone. "...it’s God’s way of favoring me after everything I’ve been through."

Barbara didn’t respond, her silence heavy and cold. She simply stared at him, her expression unreadable.

Joe’s confidence faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his bravado. "Just you wait. When I make my money, I’ll spoil you again, baby—better than ever before. Just believe in me!"

But Barbara remained silent, her stillness like a wall he couldn’t break through. Her lack of response finally pushed him over the edge.

"Fine!" he snapped, his voice loud and bitter. "Be like that!"

He stood abruptly and stormed toward the door. Just as he reached it, he paused and turned back to her, his expression cold and his words cutting. "Just remember, you’ve got no one but me now. You left everything behind, and I’m all you have."

His words hung in the air like a chilling wind before he walked out of the room, leaving the house with a slam of the door.

Barbara sat there, the emptiness of the room around her echoing the hollowness she felt inside.

After what felt like hours, Barbara sat frozen, her tears flowing endlessly as she stared at the barren room. Her breathing was uneven, her face a streaked mess of grief and exhaustion.

Eventually, with trembling hands, she reached for her phone. Scrolling through the contacts, she hesitated at a name she hadn’t dared to call in years. The memories attached to it felt too heavy, too painful. But tonight, she had no choice.

Her finger hovered over the screen before finally pressing the number. As the phone began to ring, each tone seemed louder than the last, pounding against her fragile resolve. She held her breath, her heart racing, until the call connected.

"Hello?" came a soft, feminine voice, aged and gentle.

Barbara couldn’t speak, the lump in her throat growing heavier.

"Hello?" the voice repeated, this time tinged with cautious recognition. "Is that you, dear? How are you? It’s been so long. How are you?" The voice quivered slightly, sadness and concern woven into each word.

Hearing the familiar warmth, the genuine concern in her mother’s voice, Barbara broke down completely. She sobbed harder than she ever had, her cries raw and guttural.

Finally, through her tears, she managed to choke out the words. "Mom... I need help," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.

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