Melissa opened the folder on the hood of her car. “We have evidence of unlawful occupancy, rental income collected from a property my client owns, forged estate paperwork, and attempts to change the utility account using false authorization.”
Dad’s anger cracked into panic. “This is family business.”
Melissa looked at him. “Fraud is not family business.”
The deputies asked Ashley for identification. Her hands shook as she searched her purse. Mom started crying, saying everyone was overreacting, that Ashley had only been “keeping the house safe.”
I turned toward the porch. The welcome mat was new. The rocking chairs were Ashley’s. But through the front window, I could see Grandma’s blue curtains still hanging in the living room.
That hurt more than the screaming.
One deputy asked if I wanted them removed from the property. My mother stared at me, suddenly soft, suddenly small. “Claire, please. Don’t do this to your sister.”
I remembered every time she had called me dirty, broken, embarrassing. I remembered Grandma visiting me at rehab when no one else did. I remembered Ashley posting photos from my lake house with the caption, “Blessed to inherit peace.”
I looked at the deputy. “Yes. I want them removed.”
Ashley snapped then. “You don’t even deserve this place!” she screamed. “You were supposed to ruin your life. You always ruin everything.”
The deputy told her to calm down. She did not. She lunged toward the porch table, grabbed a folder, and tried to tear the papers inside.
That was when Melissa said, “Deputy, those are copied rental contracts connected to the investigation.”
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