Chapter 3 - The Inquisition
By eleven that morning, my phone had vibrated off the coffee table twice.
Mom hadn’t texted back to my detailed breakdown of expenses. Instead, she had mobilized. When the knock came, it wasn't the frantic hammering Ross had delivered; it was the sharp, rhythmic rap of my mother’s knuckles.
I opened the door to find both of my parents standing on the welcome mat. Mom was clutching her designer handbag like a shield, her lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. Dad stood half a step behind her, his shoulders slumped, his eyes tired and rimmed with red.
"Dana," Mom began without so much as a greeting. "What is this circus you've started on New Year's Day? Ross is beside himself. Chloe is in tears. Their mortgage payment was rejected an hour ago because you froze an account without warning!"
"Come inside, Dad," I said quietly, stepping aside and ignoring Mom’s opening salvo.
Dad walked past me, his gaze sweeping across the living room where Calvin and Molly were quietly watching cartoons, wrapped in thick fleece blankets with mugs of hot cocoa. Dad's expression softened into deep sorrow. He walked over, knelt down beside Molly, and touched her cheek with the back of his weathered hand.
"How are you doing, sweetheart?" Dad murmured.
"My toes hurt earlier, Grandpa," Molly whispered shyly. "Uncle Ross said kids weren't allowed in the main room because we'd spill punch on the rug."
Dad went utterly still. He turned his head slowly toward Mom, who was still standing by the entryway, looking uncomfortable but stubborn.
"Eleanor," Dad said, his voice deadly quiet. "Did you hear what our granddaughter just said?"
"Kids exaggerate, Arthur," Mom deflected quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "Ross said there was a misunderstanding with the door lock. He thought Chloe had let them into the guest suite. It was an accident. But shutting down family accounts? Accusing your brother of fraud on a holiday? Dana, you have always had this jealous streak toward your brother's success."
I couldn't help but laugh, a dry, bitter sound that startled even myself. "Jealous of his success, Mom? Is that what you call living in a house he can't afford, driving a leased BMW financed under false pretenses, and paying for his lavish lifestyle using his single-mother sister’s hospital shift savings?"
"Watch your tongue!" Mom snapped.
May you like
"No, Mom. You look at these papers." I picked up the printed manila folder from the kitchen counter and tossed it onto the coffee table. "Because the party was just the tip of the iceberg."
***
