Chapter 3 - THE FAMILY INQUISITION
By 8:00 p.m. that evening, my penthouse was secured.
Jason had brought in an emergency locksmith who replaced the smart locks, installed a reinforced deadbolt, and rewired the security system with encrypted cloud backup. Two professional cleaners were in the kitchen scrubbing the grout and conditioning the lime-washed walls, while a furniture restoration specialist examined the scuffs on my white oak floors and the stains on my Italian leather sofa.
The preliminary estimate for repairs, lock replacements, lost rental income, and deep cleaning was eight thousand, four hundred dollars.
My phone had been buzzing continuously on the kitchen counter for four hours.
Thirty-seven missed calls from my mother. Twelve missed calls from my father. Dozens of frantic, furious text messages filling the family group chat.
Linda: "How could you let the police throw your sister and her babies into the street?!"
Linda: "She is sleeping in a cheap hotel room right now because of you!"
Robert: "Morgan, call your mother immediately. You went way too far this time."
Linda: "We are coming to your firm tomorrow morning if you don't answer us right now!"
I picked up the phone, stepped out onto the balcony, and looked at the ocean. The waves rolled in smooth and silver beneath the moon, vast and indifferent to human madness. I called my attorney, David Vance, first.
"Morgan," David answered on the second ring. "I read the email and reviewed the photos of the forged lease you sent over. This is exceptionally clean-cut legally, but emotionally toxic. How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine," I said, my voice steady. "I need you to draft a formal Cease and Desist letter to my sister, my mother, and my father. I want a formal demand for damages totaling eight thousand four hundred dollars served to Rebecca by a court process server tomorrow morning."
David paused on the line. "A formal demand notice to your family? You know once we file this paper trail, it opens the door for civil litigation if she doesn't pay."
"I know," I said. "And I want criminal charges pressed for the forgery if she tries to contest the damages. I am not letting them sweep this under the rug, David. If I back down now, they will treat my entire life as an open account for the rest of my days."
"Understood," David said smoothly. "I'll have the process server locate her at the hotel by noon tomorrow."
After ending the call with my lawyer, I took a deep breath, walked back inside, and finally called my father back.
He answered instantly. "Morgan! What in God's name is wrong with you?!"
"Hello, Dad," I said, sitting on the edge of the island, far away from where the forged paper had rested.
"Your sister is crying in a Red Roof Inn off the highway with three exhausted children!" my father shouted, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by the booming rage he reserved for times when my mother whipped him into a frenzy. "She had a lease! Your mother explained to me that you two had an oral agreement—"
"Stop lying for them, Dad," I cut in, my voice freezing him mid-sentence. "There was no oral agreement. You were at Sunday dinner when I said 'no' to her face. Mom took the spare key I gave her for emergencies two years ago, handed it to Rebecca, and watched her forge my signature on a contract that listed rent at five hundred dollars a month."
Silence descended on the line. My father cleared his throat, his conviction wavering slightly. "Well... your mother was just trying to help Rebecca avoid a shelter... Rebecca’s ex-husband drained her savings—"
"Then Mom and you should have put Rebecca and her three kids in your own guest room," I snapped. "You have a four-bedroom house in Coral Gables with two empty bedrooms upstairs. Why didn't you let her move into your house, Dad?"
"Because... because your mother’s nerves can't handle three young children screaming around the house all day!" my father stammered out, revealing the pathetic double standard with absolute clarity.
I let out a cold, bitter laugh. "Right. Mom’s nerves couldn't handle the noise and mess, so you both decided to break into my home, ruin my four-thousand-dollar sofa, cut my security system, and forge my name so my nerves and my property could take the hit instead."
"Morgan, that's not—"
"It is exactly that," I said. "And here is what is going to happen next, Dad. Tomorrow morning, a process server will hand Rebecca a formal legal demand for eight thousand four hundred dollars in property damages and security restoration fees. If she doesn't pay it within fourteen days, or if Mom attempts to contact me, my attorney will present the forged lease to the State Attorney’s Office for felony fraud prosecution."
"Are you threatening your own family?!" my father gasped, his voice cracking with disbelief.
May you like
"No, Dad," I said softly, looking at my reflection in the dark glass of the balcony door. "I am setting a boundary. For the first time in thirty-one years. Goodnight."
I ended the call, blocked my mother’s number, blocked my father’s number, and turned my phone onto 'Do Not Disturb'.
