“But you’re my sister. You’re supposed to protect me.”
“I did protect you,” I said. “For thirty-one years. I protected you from consequences. I protected you from the real world. But not anymore.”
A police car pulled up outside.
Helen stepped out of her car right behind it.
The officer walked toward us.
“Miss, we got a call about harassment.”
Helen pointed.
“That’s them. They’ve been bothering my friend for days.”
Mom’s face turned pale.
“Jacqueline, you wouldn’t—”
“I would,” I said, stepping back inside the building. “And if you come here again, I’ll add it to the identity theft charges I’m filing tomorrow.”
The officer’s expression changed immediately.
“Identity theft? Ma’am, I need both of you to step away from the building.”
I watched through the lobby windows as he walked them to their car. Lauren looked back once, her face twisted with anger and fear. Mom didn’t look back at all.
Upstairs, Scott and Helen were waiting with fresh coffee and worried eyes.
“They’re gone,” I said as I dropped onto the couch. “Maybe not forever, but at least for now.”
Helen sat beside me.
“You know what the best revenge is?”
“Living well?”
“Nope. Buying that dream house you were saving for, only bigger and better. And guess what? I found one that actually fits your budget now that you’re no longer supporting four people.”
For the first time in days, I smiled.
“Show me.”
“You won’t believe this,” Scott said that night, his laptop casting a soft blue glow over the kitchen table.
We had been going through financial records for hours. Empty takeout boxes were everywhere.
“Look at this,” he said as I leaned over his shoulder. “See these transfers? Every month for the past four years, small amounts of money have been moving from your savings into an account I’ve never seen before.”
“That’s not possible. I watch my accounts carefully.”
“They did it through that old joint account you opened with your mom in college. The one you forgot about. They’ve been using it like a hidden tunnel.”
My phone buzzed.
Another message from Lauren.
Dad’s having chest pains because of you. Hope you’re happy.
“Don’t answer her,” Scott said, still staring at the screen. “Wait. Look at this.”
He pulled up a web of transfers. The lines stretched across the screen like a spiderweb, cash moving from my accounts through different places and always ending up in Lauren’s pocket or covering my parents’ debts.
Then he whispered the number.
“Four hundred thousand dollars.”
My head spun.
