Then, a message from Margaret. “We can talk this out, sweetheart. It’s just a misunderstanding.”
“No, Mother,” I replied. “It’s a balance sheet. And you’re in the red.”
The next morning, the knock on my door was exactly what I expected. Heavy, frantic, and entitled. I opened it to find the trio: Margaret, Richard, and Victoria. They looked like a jury that had just realized they were the ones on trial.
“Come in,” I said, stepping aside.
Ronnie fluffed his wings and emitted a cheerful whistle. “Call the lawyer! Thief! Thief!”
“Is that bird still here?” Margaret hissed, her eyes darting around my living room, which was now filled with new, bright curtains and a sense of permanence she didn’t recognize.
“Please, sit,” I said, leaning against the kitchen counter.
They huddled together on the sofa. My father cleared his throat, trying to regain the mantle of the patriarch. “Let’s be reasonable. You had your fun at the restaurant. But you’ve caused real damage. The bank is calling about the vacation refund, and Victoria’s cards are being declined.”
“I know,” I said. “I canceled them. And Mother, your automatic payments for the house? I revoked the authorization. Since it’s ‘my’ money you were using, I decided to spend it on something else. My own life.”
“You can’t do that!” Victoria screamed, her designer handbag clutched to her chest. “We’re family! Family helps each other!”
“Family doesn’t steal,” I replied, my voice like tempered steel. “Family doesn’t laugh behind each other’s backs while siphoning their bank accounts. I found the drive, Victoria. I heard the voice notes.”
Victoria’s face went white. My mother’s hand went to her heart, but this time, the gesture felt like bad community theater.
“We… we were just trying to be happy,” Margaret whimpered. “You always had so much more than us. You didn’t need it.”
