Chapter 7 - THE CONFRONTATION AT THE HOUSE
The Ward family home felt cold when I walked in on Thursday night.
The stage fog was gone. The floral arches from the wedding week had wilted into brown, crisp piles near the trash cans out back.
My parents sat in the formal living room. Dad looked ten years older, sitting in his armchair with an untouched tumbler of scotch. Mom sat on the sofa, clutching a handkerchief, surrounded by legal notices and bills.
Delaney was there too.
She was wearing a gray sweatshirt, no makeup, her hair tied back in a messy knot. An ankle monitor glowed with a faint green light around her right leg—a condition of her bail while she awaited her felony preliminary hearing.
When I walked into the room, no one offered me a drink. No one smiled.
"You brought a lawyer?" Mom snapped, eyeing Sarah Klein, who walked in behind me carrying a leather briefcase.
"Always," I said, sitting down across from them.
Delaney glared at me with hollow, sunken eyes. "Are you happy now, Sloan? The house is going on the market next week. I had to liquidate my savings just to pay my criminal defense retainer. I'm facing three years in state prison."
"You put rusted wire in a headpiece and drove it into my scalp, Delaney," I said coldly. "You could have blinded me. You could have caused a fatal infection. And you did it for a viral video."
"It was a prank!" Delaney shrieked, her voice cracking with pathetic desperation. "It was supposed to be a dramatic moment for the wrap-up episode! We were going to cut to a tearful reconciliation scene in the hospital!"
"A prank?" I leaned forward, my hands resting on my knees. "And stealing two million dollars from Clara's daughter? Was that a prank too?"
Mom stepped in, her voice rising in defense of her favorite child. "Delaney was going to put that money back, Sloan! Once her brand deal with the cosmetics company cleared, she was going to reimburse the trust!"
"That brand deal was worth two hundred thousand dollars, Laurel," Sarah Klein stated plainly, opening her folder. "The trust deficit was two point two million. Delaney was running a classic ponzi scheme using her minor niece's assets to fund an unpayable lifestyle."
Dad covered his face with his hands, letting out a dry, choked sob. "We're going to lose this house, aren't we?"
"Yes, Thatcher," Sarah said without emotion. "The civil court has named you personally liable as primary trustee for gross negligence. Unless you settle with June's legal estate voluntarily, the court will seize this property to satisfy the remaining six hundred thousand dollar deficit."
Mom turned to me, falling onto her knees beside my chair, reaching out to grab my hands. Her face was contorted in desperate, theatrical agony.
"Sloan... please!" Mom wept. "You're our daughter! Talk to June! Tell her to drop the civil claim against your father! We'll give her whatever is left! Just don't take our home!"
I looked down at my mother's hands gripping mine.
For thirty-four years, I had craved this woman's affection. I had worked twice as hard in school, built a successful career, and stayed quiet during family dinners just to earn a fraction of the praise she showered on Delaney for simply existing.
Now, she was on her knees—not asking for my forgiveness, not asking if my scalp had healed, but begging me to protect her comfort at the expense of my dead sister's orphan.
I slowly pulled my hands out of her grip.
"No," I said softly.
Mom froze. "What?"
"No, Mom," I repeated, standing up. "June is not dropping the suit. You and Dad are going to sell this house. You're going to move into a condo you can actually afford. And Delaney is going to face a jury of twelve people who will watch her crimp barbed wire into a tiara."
"You heartless monster!" Delaney screamed, jumping off the couch. "You never loved this family!"
"You're right, Delaney," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "I loved the family I thought I had. But I finally met the family you actually are. And I'm done holding your umbrella in the storm."
I turned toward the door.
"Sloan... wait!" Dad called out, his voice trembling. "Will we ever see you again?"
I stopped at the foyer, my hand on the brass doorknob. I looked back at the three of them—broken, exposed, caught in the wreckage of their own greed.
May you like
"I'll be at June's high school graduation in June," I said cleanly. "If you want to be there, you can buy a ticket in the back row like everybody else."
I walked out the front door and didn't look back.
