Chapter 3 - The Threat
“It’s rude to dig through a sick man’s private papers, Cassie,” Lydia said, stepping into the office and closing the door behind her.
I held the red folder firmly against my chest. “Grandma left the downtown building to me.”
Lydia took a slow sip of her coffee. Her face didn't show surprise or shame—only a cold, dismissive arrogance.
“Grandma was senile,” Lydia sneered. “She gave you everything because you played the dutiful little victim while I actually stayed in this town and dealt with Mom and Dad.”
“She gave it to me because she knew what you were,” I fired back. “And she knew Mom would hand it right to you.”
Lydia set her mug down on the desk with a sharp clack. “Look at you. Miss Successful Boston Designer. You have a business, a condo, a life. You don’t need that building. I deserve it.”
“You attempted to kill me for it, Lydia!” My voice echoed off the wood-paneled walls. “You hid my EpiPen! You laced the sauce with cashews and shoved it down my throat! You unplugged the landline while Dad was begging for help!”
Lydia chuckled—a dry, chilling sound.
“Good luck proving any of that,” she said smoothly. “It’s your word against mine and Mom’s. Mom will swear under oath that you had a panic attack because you’re emotionally unstable. The doctor at the ER admitted your throat irritation could have been exacerbated by stress. Who is a jury going to believe? A loving sister who cooked dinner for her family, or an estranged daughter who abandoned her dying father for years?”
She took a step closer, her pearl earrings catching the morning light.
“Leave, Cassie. Go back to Boston. Sign over your rights to the trust, and I’ll let you visit Dad one last time before he dies. Refuse... and I’ll make sure you never see him again. I have power of attorney over his medical care. I can ban you from this house with one phone call to the police.”
I stared at her. The utter lack of remorse in her eyes was terrifying. She truly believed she was invincible.
I didn't argue. I didn't scream. I simply smiled, tucked the red folder into my leather tote bag, and walked past her toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Lydia called out, her voice dropping its cool facade, laced with sudden suspicion.
May you like
I stopped at the threshold and looked back over my shoulder.
“I’m going to hire a very expensive lawyer,” I said quietly. “And then I’m going to the police station.”
