Chapter 4 - MY SISTER WAS SLEEPING IN MY BEDROOM
By the time I reached the house, Dad was in the basement.
I heard him before I reached the stairs.
Storage bins scraped across concrete.
Cabinet doors slammed.
Something metal struck the floor.
I stopped in the kitchen.
Mom stood by the sink.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
Neither of us spoke.
Then Dad shouted from downstairs.
“Where is it?”
I set my keys on the counter.
“Where is what?”
He came up the stairs fast.
His face was red.
“The safe.”
Mom closed her eyes.
That told me she hadn’t wanted him to ask directly.
I leaned against the counter.
“What safe?”
“Don’t play games.”
“I’ve been home less than twenty-four hours and you’re searching my basement. I think I’m allowed to ask questions.”
“Our basement,” he snapped.
There it was again.
I took out my phone.
“Say that again.”
Dad stopped.
“What?”
“You said ‘our basement.’”
He saw the phone in my hand.
“Are you recording me?”
“I’m checking messages.”
That was technically true.
I hadn’t started recording.
Yet.
Mom stepped between us.
“Everybody is tired.”
“I’m not tired,” I said.
Dad pointed toward the basement.
“Your grandfather had documents down there.”
“He had documents everywhere.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Yes.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Mom whispered, “Robert.”
Too late.
I looked at Dad.
“So you do know about the safe.”
He didn’t answer.
Footsteps came from upstairs.
Chloe appeared wearing my robe.
Not one like mine.
Mine.
Blue cotton.
Military academy logo on the chest.
I stared at her.
She immediately pulled it closed.
“Oh. Sorry. Mom said—”
“Take it off.”
Nobody moved.
Chloe blinked.
“What?”
“Not here. Go change. Then bring me everything from my bedroom that belongs to me.”
Mom gasped.
“Lauren.”
“No.”
It was the first time I had said the word with absolutely no apology behind it.
Mom stared at me.
I continued.
“No more ‘be a good sister.’ No more telling me what Chloe needs. No more deciding that anything I own automatically belongs to someone else.”
Chloe’s face crumpled.
“I didn’t know—”
“You’re wearing my clothes in my bedroom while my property is in garbage bags.”
“I thought you agreed.”
“To what?”
“Everything.”
“Who told you that?”
Her eyes moved toward Vance.
He had appeared at the top of the stairs.
I followed her gaze.
Vance looked calm.
Too calm.
“Lauren,” he said, “this is getting unnecessarily hostile.”
“Good morning, Vance.”
He came down.
“We should sit down.”
“No.”
He smiled without humor.
“You’ve always been dramatic after deployments.”
I stared at him.
Mom looked uncomfortable.
Dad nodded as though Vance had said something reasonable.
There.
Another detail.
They had been discussing me while I was gone.
“What does that mean?”
Vance shrugged.
“You come back intense. Suspicious.”
“I’ve never returned from a deployment while forty-five thousand dollars was missing.”
The room went silent.
Absolute silence.
Chloe looked at Vance.
Mom turned white.
Dad’s face hardened.
I had not planned to reveal the amount.
But sometimes the way people react is evidence.
Chloe whispered, “Forty-five?”
Vance recovered first.
“Lauren, nobody stole money from you.”
Interesting choice of words.
I had said missing.
He said stole.
I tilted my head.
“I didn’t say anyone stole it.”
For the first time, his confidence slipped.
Mom sat down.
Dad said, “Those funds were used for family.”
I looked at him.
“So you knew.”
“We intended to tell you.”
“When?”
“You were overseas.”
“That didn’t prevent you from accessing my account.”
Mom started crying.
Naturally.
“We were desperate.”
“For what?”
“Chloe and Vance were going to lose their home.”
Chloe looked between them.
“What are you talking about?”
Everyone turned toward her.
She looked genuinely confused.
“Mom?”
My mother stared at Vance.
He looked away.
Chloe stepped closer.
“What does Lauren mean forty-five thousand?”
Vance’s jaw tightened.
“Not now.”
“No. Now.”
“Chloe.”
“Did you take money from her?”
“It was a temporary family loan.”
I almost laughed.
“You forged a power of attorney for a temporary family loan?”
Chloe went completely still.
Mom whispered, “Lauren, lower your voice.”
“No.”
Vance pointed at me.
“We did not forge anything.”
“We?”
He realized the mistake immediately.
I folded my arms.
“Who is ‘we,’ Vance?”
Dad stepped forward.
“That’s enough.”
“No, Dad. It isn’t.”
He raised his voice.
“As long as you’re living under this roof—”
I laughed.
I couldn’t help it.
Dad stopped.
Mom stared at me.
I took the certified copy of the deed from my bag and laid it on the kitchen table.
Nobody moved.
“This roof?”
Dad looked at the document.
His face drained.
Chloe came closer.
I tapped the owner section.
“My roof.”
Mom whispered my name.
I kept going.
“My property. My taxes. My insurance. My house.”
Vance picked up the document.
“This doesn’t prove—”
“Careful.”
I took it from his hand.
“That’s a certified copy.”
Dad looked furious.
“You’re throwing ownership in your parents’ faces?”
“No. I’m correcting your sentence.”
Mom began sobbing harder.
“You would put your own parents out?”
“I haven’t said that.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
“No.”
I looked directly at Vance.
“I’m thinking about how someone forged my signature.”
Chloe backed away from her husband.
He noticed.
“Baby, don’t.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
He looked toward my mother.
And that was the moment everything changed.
Because Mom looked terrified.
Not guilty.
Terrified.
She whispered:
“Vance, you promised that document was legal.”
Chloe covered her mouth.
Dad swore under his breath.
I stared at my mother.
“What did he tell you?”
Mom shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“What did he tell you?”
Vance moved toward her.
“Patricia.”
I stepped between them.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Mom looked at me with tears running down her cheeks.
“He said you signed it before deployment.”
“I didn’t.”
“He said you wanted us to have access if there was an emergency.”
“I didn’t.”
“He brought me to the bank.”
There it was.
“Who signed my name?”
Mom’s lips trembled.
“I don’t know.”
Vance said, “This is ridiculous.”
Chloe spun toward him.
“You told me Lauren offered the money.”
“She would have.”
“That isn’t the same thing!”
Dad slammed his palm on the table.
“Enough!”
Nobody listened.
Chloe looked at me.
“You didn’t agree to any of this?”
“No.”
“The townhouse payments?”
“No.”
“Vance’s business?”
“No.”
Her face changed.
She looked like someone had pulled the floor from beneath her.
Vance reached for her.
She stepped away.
Then another voice came from the front hall.
“Lauren Mercer?”
We all turned.
A man in a suit stood outside the open screen door.
He held an envelope.
“Yes?”
“You’ve been served.”
He handed it to me.
Vance smiled.
And suddenly I understood why he had been so calm.
I opened the envelope.
PETITION FOR TEMPORARY PROTECTIVE ORDER AND FINANCIAL GUARDIANSHIP REVIEW.
Filed that morning.
By my parents.
The claim?
That after returning from deployment, I was behaving erratically, threatening family members, and showing signs of impaired judgment.
They weren’t just trying to take my money.
May you like
They were preparing to argue that I wasn’t mentally capable of controlling it.
And judging by the filing time, they had started the process before I ever confronted them.
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