Chapter 5 - The Deed
I stared at the legal document under the harsh diner light.
The signatures were there—my mother’s, my father’s, and a notary public stamp dated June fourteenth. The house, free and clear of mortgage, had been legally signed over to Charlotte six months before I invested $122,000 of my own money to renovate it.
“They didn’t just trick me into paying for a kitchen,” I whispered, the realization clicking into place with terrifying precision. “They tricked me into increasing the equity on a property I don’t own, which they had already secretly handed over to you.”
Charlotte’s face turned pale. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
“I didn't know about the timing,” she murmured defensively. “I knew they were planning to put the house in my name eventually, but I didn't know they did it right before you offered to pay for the remodel.”
“But you knew when you went to Hawaii,” I said. “You knew whose money paid for those new quartz countertops that just added fifty thousand dollars to your new property value.”
“Mom said it was an inheritance early!” Charlotte’s voice hitched, tears spilling over her lashes. “She said since you made so much money on your own, you didn't need an inheritance, so they were giving me the house while they downsized into a condo later. She said it was just ‘family business’!”
“Family business,” I repeated, the phrase tasting like poison.
I set the document back down on the table. The anger was gone now, burned away by a cold, crystalline clarity. There was no more room for confusion, no more room for second-guessing whether I had overreacted or been “too sensitive.”
My parents hadn't just taken advantage of me. They had orchestrated a financial fraud using my affection and my bank account to enrich the sister they favored, all while sneering behind my back as a “selfish woman.”
“Ryan was right to leave,” I said softly.
Charlotte flinched as if I had slapped her. “Michaela, please—”
“I’m not angry at you, Charlotte. Not anymore.” I stood up from the booth, slipping my bag over my shoulder. “You made your choices to protect yourself, just like I made mine to try and earn love that was never going to be real. But I am done playing my part in their script.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice trembling as she looked up at me.
“I’m going to get my money back,” I said. “Every single cent of it. And if they won't hand it over voluntarily, let’s see how they explain to a judge why they solicited $122,000 for a property they had already legally signed away to their other daughter.”
I turned and walked out of the diner into the crisp December air.
May you like
My phone vibrated in my pocket once, twice, three times—a rapid-fire sequence of missed calls and frantic text messages from my mother asking where I was and why the contractor had been asking weird questions.
I didn't answer. I got into my car, started the engine, and drove straight to a lawyer's office downtown.
