I stepped closer.
“And I helped him build the timeline.”
Brianna’s voice shook.
“You little snake.”
One of the deputies moved toward her.
“Ma’am, lower your voice.”
Outside, one of the movers appeared at the open front door.
“Sir? Are we still unloading?”
Dad shouted,
“Get back in the truck.”
“No.”
Everyone turned toward me.
I walked onto the porch, breathed in the cold, wet morning air, and pointed toward the moving truck.
“Unload nothing.”
The driver glanced at the deputies.
Then nodded quickly.
“Take it away.”
Mom finally lost control.
“You ungrateful brat! That house should’ve been mine!”
“It was never yours.”
My voice stayed calm.
“It was Grandpa’s.”
I looked back at the house.
“Now it’s mine.”
Mr. Harlan stepped beside me.
“Linda and Robert Whitaker, you are formally notified that you are no longer permitted on this property. Any further entry will be treated as trespassing.”
He paused.
“And civil action regarding the financial records begins today.”
Dad grabbed Mom’s arm.
Brianna started crying.
Not because she felt guilty.
Because the master bedroom she had claimed five minutes earlier had disappeared from her future.
As they walked down the steps, Mom turned back toward me.
“You’ll regret this.”
