Page 120 of The Truth That Frees

“Thank you,” Izzy and I say in unison.

“His estate was massive—so many houses, so much land and property, including this house,” I say with a giggle.

“What?” Dad roars.

“I know, right?” I say, using my best valley girl impersonation. “So, this place is mine, Izzy didn’t want it, so I took one for the team and agreed to take it,” I say, lifting my hands into the air in a what-you-gonna-do gesture. “Well anyway, I just wanted you to know that you have twenty-four hours to get your stuff and get the hell out of my house before I have the police remove you,” I say, losing all of the fake happy tone from my voice and letting the smile fall from my lips.

Mom spins toward us, her lips falling open in shock. “You can’t kick us out of our home.”

“Yes, she can,” Gulliver says. “This house belongs to Penelope; the house is part of Reginald’s estate. It’s hers now, so she can do whatever the hell she wants with it.”

“Have the house,” Dad growls, his face red and angry. “We’ll just buy another house,” he boasts.

“Well, about that,” Izzy says. “Funny story, but as part of our inheritance, we also got control of the trust funds. The lawyer said it was the strangest thing. Normally trust funds become sealed when the person who set them up dies, but great-granddaddy had his set up a little differently. So now we’re in control of them. We can increase the money, decrease the money, or, hell, we can stop allowances all together if we want to.”

Dad’s face pales, and he staggers to the nearest chair, grabbing it with his hand for support as he collapses down onto it.

Glancing at my sister, I catch her eye, waiting for her slight nod before I inhale a slow, calming breath. “You stole four years from us. You manipulated, used, abused, and hurt us. You made us hate ourselves and each other. You broke us, and then you just walked away like we never existed,” I admit candidly.

Locking eyes with my mom, I wait until a flash of fear passes across her face before I continue. “You took four years from us, so we’re going to take those four years from you. For the next four years, your trust fund will be reduced to that of an average, working-class American family. If you require more money, you’ll both have to get jobs and earn it. You won’t have access to any Rhodes property, companies, or assets, no offshore accounts, no cars, jets, or staff. For the next four years, you’re outcasts.”

Mom pulls in a ragged breath, lifting her hand to cover her mouth. “No,” she gasps, shaking her head.

“For the next four years, you’ll be poor and worthless,” I mock. “You’ll be forgotten, laughed at, and broke. No designer clothes, no big house, no servants or drivers. No cushy job where you do nothing but still earn a seven figure salary. You. Get. Nothing.”

“We’re your parents, how can you do this?” Mom hisses.

My laugh is so cold and mean that it makes goose bumps rise across my skin. “You taught me that money is power, and power is everything,” I say. “You forced me to pick a side, and guess what? We win.”

The End

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