Chapter 8 - The Ambush
On Sunday afternoon, I heard a violent banging on my apartment door.
*BAM. BAM. BAM.*
“Maya! Open this goddamn door!”
It was my father’s voice, raw and ragged.
I didn't open the door. I walked to the entryway, kept the heavy deadbolt locked, and flipped on the small security camera mounted above the peephole that streamed directly to my tablet.
My father was standing in the carpeted hallway, his winter coat unzipped, his face crimson. Beside him stood Lauren, clutching a designer handbag, wearing large sunglasses despite the dim hallway lighting. Her jaw was set in a tight, ugly snarl.
“Maya!” my father barked again, rattling the brass handle. “We know you’re in there! Your car is in the parking lot! You come out here right now and face your family!”
I pressed the intercom button connected to the door speaker. “Step away from the door, Arthur.”
Calling him by his first name hit him like a physical blow. He stumbled back half a step, staring at the painted wood.
“Arthur?” he sputtered, his voice cracking. “I am your father! You do not address me like that! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The bank called this morning! They’ve frozen my business accounts pending an audit! Lauren’s loan is canceled! The entire family is refusing to take our calls because of the filthy lies you’ve been spreading!”
“They aren't lies,” I answered through the speaker, my voice cold, calm, and completely devoid of emotion. “Every document sent to the family is a certified public record. Mom committed felony forgery. Brenda confessed. And you signed off on the title application as the head of household.”
Lauren pushed past my father, leaning her face right into the camera lens. Her voice was venomous.
“You think you’ve won, don't you?” she hissed. “You miserable, lonely little parasite. You were always jealous of me! You were jealous that Brad chose me, jealous that Mom and Dad loved me more, jealous that I actually have a life! You think Brad is going to leave me over this? He has lawyers who can buy and sell your pathetic little firm!”
“Then why are you standing outside my apartment, Lauren?” I asked softly. “If Brad’s lawyers are so powerful, why don't you have them pay off the nine hundred and forty thousand dollars Dad owes Wells Fargo?”
Lauren’s mouth twitched violently. Her sunglasses slid down her nose slightly, revealing the terror in her eyes.
“You’re going to drop the charges,” she demanded, her voice shrill. “You’re going to walk into the county office tomorrow morning, tell them it was an administrative misunderstanding, and sign the quitclaim for real. If you don't, I will tell the police that you attacked me at Thanksgiving and that I hit you in self-defense!”
I couldn't help but smile, a cold, humorless grin behind the safety of my reinforced door.
“Go ahead, Lauren,” I said. “File a false police report. Eric already handed over the security footage from the hallway, along with your text messages detailing how you planned the slap before dinner even started.”
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Lauren froze. The color instantly vanished from her face, leaving her as pale as chalk. “What? Eric... Eric didn't...”
“Leave my property,” I stated firmly. “I have already called building security and the local precinct. An officer is on his way up the elevator right now. If you are still in this hallway in sixty seconds, you will be arrested for criminal trespass.”
