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“Vindictive?” I laughed—a short, sharp sound. “I’m being factual. Every single thing I’ve said can be verified with documentation. Unlike the lies you’ve all been spreading about me.”
I reached into my folder again, pulling out an eviction notice.
“You can’t do this!” Lauren screamed, finally finding her fury again. “This is my home!”
“Was,” I corrected. “It was your home until you leveraged it into oblivion and lost it to the bank. I just happened to be the buyer. Think of it as keeping it in the family.”
My father stood up slowly, his legs unsteady.
“Jenna, we’re your parents. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“It means everything to me,” I said quietly. “Which is why it’s hurt so much all these years. Do you remember when I graduated summa cum laude from college? You didn’t come because Lauren had a hair appointment she couldn’t reschedule. When I got promoted to senior financial adviser at twenty-eight—the youngest in the company’s history—you threw a party for Lauren’s engagement to that man who left her at the altar.”
The memories flooded back, each one a small wound that had never quite healed.
“Every achievement I’ve ever had has been overshadowed by Lauren’s failures, which you somehow always spun into being my fault. Well, now I’ve achieved something you can’t ignore or minimize.
“I own this house.”
Lauren made a strangled sound like a cat being stepped on. She looked around wildly as if searching for something to throw, but I’d been careful to stay out of reach of any potential projectiles.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said, my voice taking on the professional tone I used with difficult clients. “You’re going to clean up this wine, sit back down, and we’re going to discuss this like adults. Because despite everything you’ve done to me, I’m still willing to be reasonable. But that window is closing fast.”
My mother sank back into her chair, looking older than her sixty-four years.
“I don’t understand how this happened,” she whispered. “How did we get here?”
“We got here,” I said slowly, “because for thirty-two years, you’ve treated me like I was worth less than the dirt under your shoes. We got here because you never once stopped to think that maybe—just maybe—I was keeping score.”
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed nine, its deep tones echoing through the house that was no longer Lauren’s sanctuary, but my statement of independence.
“Time’s up,” I announced. “So what’s it going to be? Are we going to handle this civilly, or do I need to call the sheriff’s department to enforce the eviction notice?”
But if she thought the house was the biggest surprise of the evening, she was about to learn just how thorough I’d been in my preparations. Because the cameras I’d installed weren’t just for security.
They were for evidence.
And what they’d captured over the past month would change everything.
“I think,” I said, sitting back down at the table, “it’s time we talked about the surveillance system I had installed. You’d be amazed at what modern technology can capture. Shall we start with last Tuesday, when you went through my old room?”
The night was far from over, and I was just beginning to show them exactly what twenty years of careful planning looked like when executed by someone they’d dismissed as worthless.
Lauren’s hand shot out toward me, fingernails aimed at my face like claws. I stepped back smoothly, having anticipated this exact reaction.
“Don’t you dare touch her.”
The voice came from the kitchen doorway.
