Chapter 1 - The Table Is Set
The dining room radiated empty opulence. Twelve guests sat around the mahogany table I had purchased three years ago with my ICU overtime pay. At the head of the table sat Melissa, wearing a silk dress that cost more than my mother’s monthly Social Security check. Beside her sat my brother, Derek, laughing loudly at a joke made by one of Melissa’s wealthy real estate clients.
My mother stood silently by the swinging kitchen doors, holding a heavy porcelain soup tureen. Her small hands trembled under the weight.
"Look at her, moving like a snail," Melissa remarked to the woman sitting next to her, not bothering to lower her voice. "Honestly, good help is so hard to find these days. But at least she doesn't cost us a dime in rent."
Laughter rippled around the table.
Derek took a sip of red wine and said nothing. He didn't even look up at the woman who had worked two cleaning jobs to put him through college.
"Excuse me," I said, stepping into the dining room. My voice was calm, measured, and dangerously clear.
The room quieted down. Melissa turned, frowning slightly as if noticing an annoying bug. "Oh, Sarah. I thought you were upstairs unpacking. If you’re going to stay for dinner, go wash your hands and fetch the dinner rolls from the oven."
"I don't think so, Melissa," I replied, standing at the opposite end of the table. "I have a few questions before anyone eats."
"Sarah, please..." my mother whispered from the kitchen doorway, her eyes wide with terror. "It's fine. Don't make a scene."
"It's not fine, Mom," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on Melissa. "Melissa, you told your guests that this home belongs to you and Derek. You told them you bought it during your last real estate venture."
Melissa’s eyes flickered with a sudden edge of suspicion, but she quickly smoothed her expression into an arrogant smirk. "Derek and I own this property, Sarah. It’s our hard work that maintains this lifestyle. Now stop embarrassing yourself in front of our distinguished guests."
"Really?" I pulled a sleek, black leather binder from under my arm and laid it squarely in the middle of the table, right next to the crystal centerpieces. "Because I have the original title deed, the mortgage payoff certificate, and the county tax records right here."
Derek froze. His wine glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
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"What is that?" Melissa scoffed, though her voice raised an octave. "Some fake papers you printed out?"
"No," I said, opening the binder and sliding the certified county documents across the polished table for everyone to see. "It’s the legal deed to this five-bedroom property. Registered exclusively under one name: Sarah Vance. My name."
