Chapter 2 - The Morning Trap
The smell of freshly brewed Kona coffee drifted down the hallway, a luxury my mother only bought for special occasions or when she wanted to flaunt her status to the neighbors.
I sat at the polished mahogany dining table—a piece of furniture that had cost more than my first car—staring down at my empty coffee cup. Margaret swept into the room wearing a plush velvet robe, her fingers heavy with gold rings that caught the morning light. Paige followed closely behind, scrolling through social media on a phone that cost over a thousand dollars.
"Well, look who's up early," Margaret said, pouring herself a cup with a self-satisfied smirk. "I suppose four years in the army makes it hard to sleep in a real bed. Though I must say, Ethan, you look entirely too serious."
"Just thinking about the future, Ma," I said, keeping my voice eerily calm. "And about how we’re going to manage the four hundred grand coming in."
Margaret’s eyes lit up with predatory greed. She set the coffee pot down so fast a few drops sloshed onto the counter. "Manage it? Oh, darling, leave that to me. Paige and I have already been looking at architectural designs for a second-story master suite. And we really need to trade in that truck for a European import. Image is everything in this neighborhood now."
"And Gwen?" I asked quietly. "Where does she fit into the master suite plans?"
Paige rolled her eyes, scoffing openly. "Oh, please, Ethan. Are we really going to talk about her this early? She's out back scrubbing the patio. It builds character. Honestly, ever since she got all mopey and started losing her hair, she's been a complete drag on the household vibe. You should have divorced her before you deployed."
I felt a muscle twitch in my jaw. "She's sick, Paige."
"She’s dramatic," Margaret corrected sharply, leaning forward, her tone hardening into the manipulative steel I knew all too well from my childhood. "She refused to eat, she ruined her hair with cheap grocery store dye just to look like a victim, and she spends all day crying about imaginary medical bills. We gave her a roof over her head, didn't we? She lives in the storage room because she tracks dirt into the main house. We are doing her a favor."
"A favor," I repeated softly.
"Exactly," Margaret said, waving a dismissive hand. "Now, when does that government wire hit? The lawyer said we need to sign the power of attorney documents today so I can deposit the funds directly into our corporate trust account."
"Corporate trust account?" I raised an eyebrow.
"For tax purposes, obviously," Paige chimed in eagerly. "So the government doesn't take a cut. Ma set it up last year using your military authorization credentials. It's totally standard."
I stared at them—the women who had raised me, the sister I had protected when we were kids—and realized they weren't family anymore. They were parasites wrapped in silk.
"Standard," I whispered, standing up slowly from the table. "Right. Let's go down to the bank right now and finalize it all. But we're bringing Gwen with us."
May you like
Margaret’s face tightened with sudden irritation. "Gwen? Absolutely not. She looks like a corpse. She'll embarrass us in front of Mr. Vance at the bank."
"She comes," I said, my voice dropping an octave, carrying the dark, unyielding authority of a combat commander who had just given an order. "Or the deal is off."
