Chapter 3 - The Ghost Promotion
Diane looked as though she had been struck by lightning. She grabbed Scott by the forearm, her fingers digging through his tailored button-down shirt. "Scott, tell her she’s lying! Tell her you own half of it! You’re married! Marital property belongs to both of you!"
"Not when the house was purchased eighteen months prior to our courthouse ceremony with a pre-closing sole-ownership affidavit and a signed prenuptial agreement," I said smoothly, sliding a fresh stack of printed documents from my leather work tote onto the marble island. "Every asset brought into the marriage remains separate unless explicitly co-mingled. Scott signed it in front of two witnesses and a notary public."
Brooke looked down at the paperwork, then back at her brother. Her expression shifted rapidly from smug arrogance to sheer bewilderment. "Scott? Is that true? Did you sign a prenup?"
Scott looked down at his designer leather shoes, unable to meet his sister’s eyes. "It was just a formality at the time, Brooke. Allison’s business was doing well, and her investors insisted on it before her series funding."
"Her business?" Diane’s voice squeaked, rising two octaves. "What about *your* business? What about your promotion to Regional Vice President? That’s what we’re here celebrating today! That’s why we were having the ribs!"
A dry laugh escaped my throat. I couldn't help it. The sheer absurdity of the lie Scott had built around himself had reached its breaking point.
"Show her the letter, Scott," I said.
Silence hung heavy in the kitchen.
"Scott?" Diane pressed, her hand shaking against his sleeve. "Show her what? Where is your promotion letter?"
"There is no promotion, Diane," I said, pulling up another email on the mirrored screen. "Scott hasn't worked at Apex Logistics in four months. He was laid off in November for chronic absenteeism and failure to meet his regional sales quotas."
Brooke’s jaw dropped. "November? But he’s been leaving the house in a suit every single morning!"
"He leaves the house, sits in coffee shops for six hours, plays golf on my country club membership, and comes home pretending he’s exhausted from running client meetings," I revealed, watching the absolute destruction of Scott’s carefully crafted illusion. "For four months, I covered his half of our shared living expenses. I paid his health insurance premiums. I paid his credit card bills. I kept quiet because he begged me for time to get back on his feet without crushing your expectations."
"Allison, stop!" Scott yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. "You promised you wouldn't do this! You promised you'd give me until the end of the quarter!"
"That was before your mother slapped me across the face in my own kitchen," I retorted, matching his volume with cold, unyielding authority. "That was before she packed fourteen pounds of my hand-cooked ribs into your sister’s trunk and treated me like an insolent maid who forgot to bow. You want to hide behind your pride? Fine. But pride doesn't pay the property taxes, Scott. I do."
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Diane sank onto one of the barstools, her hand fluttering to her chest as if she couldn't catch her breath. "You... you let me brag to the church committee? You let me tell Aunt Clara that Scott was buying a beach house in the Carolinas?"
"No, Diane," I corrected her coldly. "Scott let you lie to them. Because Scott would rather let you abuse his wife than admit he’s completely dependent on her."
