Vanessa sprinted out the front door, her silk jumpsuit fluttering in the evening breeze. She was waving her phone like a distress flare. “Claire! Stop! What did you do? My cards are dead! The internet is gone, and the house is freezing!”
Margaret followed her, her face pale and drawn. She looked like a different person without the soft lighting of the dining room. “Claire, call the utility company! The security system is screaming, and I can’t get the gates to open! Fix this immediately! It’s an embarrassment!”
I rolled down my window halfway. The calm on my face was more terrifying to them than any scream could have been. I looked at my mother, the woman who had just called me a parasite.
“I did exactly what you asked, Mother. I left,” I said, my voice steady. “And since you said Easter is so much better without me, I assumed you wouldn’t want my money, my house, or my corporate-leased cars either.”
“Your house?” Vanessa gasped, her voice reaching a shrill, hysterical pitch. “Mom said this was Grandma’s! She said it was inherited!”
“Mom lied to protect her pride, Vanessa,” I said, leaning my arm on the window sill. “I bought this house in a foreclosure sale five years ago. I let you live here for free because I wanted Lily to have a grandmother. I paid the property taxes, the insurance, the HOA fees, and the electricity you’re currently missing. Since I am ‘never returning,’ the occupancy agreement is terminated. I’ve ended the subsidy.”
The man from Asset Recovery stepped forward, his voice professional and cold. “Excuse me, are you Vanessa Sterling? I’m here to repossess the Porsche 911, VIN ending in 4022. The lease payments were flagged as ‘fraudulent’ by the primary account holder five minutes ago.”
“Repossess?” Vanessa screamed, turning on the man. “You can’t! That’s my car!”
“Actually, it’s a corporate lease belonging to Vance & Associates,” the man replied, handing her a repossession order. “And I’m going to need the keys to the Mercedes in the garage as well.”
Margaret fell to her knees on the manicured gravel of the driveway. The “Iron Lady” was crumbling. “Claire, please! We didn’t mean it! It was just a family spat! We were stressed! Undo it! Please, just undo the internet and the cards! How are we supposed to eat?”