Chapter 3
I cried until I had no tears left.
When I finally sat up, my eyes were puffy, my throat was raw, and the letter was crumpled in my hand. But for the first time since dad got sick, my chest felt light.
I stood up, wiped my face on my sleeve, and walked to the study.
The room smelled like dad’s old cigar smoke and lemon polish. His leather chair was still pushed back from the desk, the way he’d left it the last day he was home. I sat down in it, the leather still warm from memory, and folded the letter carefully, tucking it into the inner pocket of my blazer.
Then I heard the shouting from upstairs.
Karen and Ethan were screaming at each other, their voices echoing through the vents. I heard a dresser drawer slam, a glass shatter.
I didn’t care.
For seven years, I’d tiptoed around this house, scared to make a sound, scared to upset Karen. Scared she’d make dad choose between us, and he’d choose her.
Now?
This was my house.
I picked up the phone on the desk and called Maria, the maid. She’d worked for dad for 12 years, and she’d always been kind to me—sneaking me cookies when Karen said I was too fat, leaving extra blankets outside my door when the heat was turned off in the winter.
“Maria?” I said when she answered.
“Ms. Olivia?” Her voice was shaky. “I’m so sorry about what happened earlier. I didn’t know what to do—”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not mad at you. Not at all. I’m calling to tell you you’re not going anywhere. This is still your job, same as always. Actually, I’m giving you a raise. And a bonus. For everything you’ve done for me.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Then she sniffled.
“Really?” she whispered.
“Really,” I said. “And if Karen or Ethan give you any trouble while they’re packing, you come find me. Or the security men downstairs. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, her voice wobbly. “Thank you, Ms. Olivia. Thank you so much.”
I hung up just as there was a knock on the study door.
It was Mr. Henderson.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said. “But Karen is demanding to speak to you. She says she’s not leaving until she talks to you face to face.”
I sighed.
“Fine,” I said. “Send her in. But stay close, okay?”
“Always,” he said.
A minute later, Karen stormed into the study. Her hair was a mess, her makeup was streaked, and she was clutching a stack of papers to her chest.
“You think you’re so smart,” she said, slamming the papers on the desk. “You think that letter and those fake documents mean you win? I have friends, Olivia. Powerful friends. I will drag this through court for years. I will spend every last dime I have to make sure you never see a penny of that money. You’ll be old and gray before you ever get to touch a dollar of it.”
I looked at the papers. It was the old will, the one she’d thought was real.
I leaned back in dad’s chair.
“Arthur told me the transfers are irrevocable,” I said. “That means no court can undo them. Right?”
“Correct,” Mr. Henderson said from the doorway.
Karen’s face twisted.
“Then I’ll tell everyone you drugged him,” she spat. “That you took advantage of his dementia. That you forced him to sign those papers. Who do you think they’ll believe? Me, his loving wife of seven years? Or you, the sullen, ungrateful stepdaughter who never spoke to anyone?”
I stared at her.
For a second, I felt that old familiar fear creep back. What if she was right? What if people did believe her?
Then I thought of dad’s letter. I thought of the proof he’d left.
I leaned forward, my hands flat on the desk.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Tell them whatever you want. But Arthur has all the bank records. All the money you stole from dad’s business over the years. All the emails where you talked about how you couldn’t wait for him to die so you could have everything. If you want to go to court, we’ll countersue for embezzlement. You’ll spend the next ten years in prison. Is that worth it to you?”
Her face went white.
“You wouldn’t,” she whispered.
“Try me,” I said.
We stared at each other for a long time. I didn’t look away. Not once.
Finally, she stepped back, her shoulders slumping.
“I want the jewelry,” she said, her voice quieter now. “The pieces Daniel gave me during our marriage. They’re mine.”
“Arthur will go through them with you,” I said. “If he confirms dad gave them to you as gifts, you can take them. Nothing else.”
“And Ethan’s car?” she said. “The BMW Daniel bought him for his 19th birthday?”
I thought about it. The car was worth $60,000. It was nothing compared to the trust. But it was the only thing Ethan had ever really cared about.
“Fine,” I said. “He can take the car. But that’s it. No more negotiations. You have until this time tomorrow. Then security walks you out.”
Karen stared at me for another long second. Then she nodded, turned, and walked out without another word.
Mr. Henderson raised an eyebrow at me.
“Nicely done,” he said.
“I just want them gone,” I said, slumping back in the chair. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“I understand,” he said. “But for what it’s worth, your father would be very proud of you. You handled that perfectly.”
He left me alone again.
I sat in the quiet study for a long time, listening to the distant sounds of Karen and Ethan slamming doors and yelling upstairs.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like a guest in my own home.
I felt like I belonged.
The next twenty-four hours were a blur.
Security followed Karen and Ethan everywhere they went in the house, making sure they didn’t take anything they weren’t allowed to. Maria made me soup, even though I wasn’t hungry. Arthur came and went, handling the inventory of what they were taking, making sure all the paperwork was signed.
Karen tried to take the original Picasso that hung in the dining room. Arthur stopped her. She tried to take dad’s vintage watch collection. Arthur stopped her. She screamed, she cried, she threatened, but every time, Arthur just stood there, calm and unshakable, and told her no.
Ethan tried to sneak a case of dad’s expensive whiskey out in his duffel. One of the security men pulled it out and set it on the hall table. Ethan got in his face, shoving him in the chest, but the security man didn’t move. He just looked at Ethan until Ethan backed down, muttering curses.
I watched it all from the top of the stairs.
I didn’t feel bad. Not even a little.
They’d had seven years of making my life hell. Seven years of stealing, lying, abusing.
This was nothing.
Finally, the twenty-four hours were up.
Karen and Ethan stood in the foyer, surrounded by a dozen suitcases and boxes. Karen was wearing her most expensive fur coat, even though it was 60 degrees outside. Ethan was texting furiously on his phone, his jaw tight.
Arthur handed Karen a stack of signed papers.
“These confirm you’ve received all allowed personal property,” he said. “And that you waive any and all future claims to the Carter estate, the trust, or any assets belonging to Ms. Carter. If you come back on the property, or contact Ms. Carter in any way—phone, text, social media, through a third party—we will file a restraining order and press trespassing charges. Do you understand?”
Karen snatched the papers, signed them without reading, and threw the pen on the floor.
“I hope you’re happy,” she said, looking right at me. “You got everything you ever wanted. But you’ll be alone in that big empty house. Just you and your money. No one will ever love you. You’ll die alone, just like your mother.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
For half a second, I almost cried.
Then I thought of dad’s letter. I thought of Maria, who’d just texted me to say she’d made my favorite chocolate chip cookies. I thought of Arthur, who’d stood by me for two days without asking for anything.
I lifted my chin.
“Goodbye, Karen,” I said. “Goodbye, Ethan. Don’t come back.”
Ethan looked up from his phone. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me with cold, dead eyes, then turned and walked out the door.
Karen followed him, her heels clicking loud on the marble.
The security men carried their boxes out to the driveway, loaded them into Ethan’s BMW and a rental truck Karen had called.
I stood in the open doorway, watching them.
Karen got in the truck, slammed the door, and didn’t look back.
Ethan started the BMW, revved the engine loud, and peeled out of the driveway, tires screeching against the asphalt.
They were gone.
I closed the front door.
Turned the deadbolt.
Then I slid down the back of the door, sat on the floor, and cried again.
But this time, they were happy tears.
Relieved tears.
May you like
They were gone.
I was safe.
