I had prevented that lie before it was born. Apparently Jonathan had decided reality was negotiable.
I snapped one photo of the recorded deed, then another of the occupancy agreement, and sent both to Lena Park, the real estate attorney who had closed the house for me and insisted on airtight paperwork “because family makes people stupid around property.”
They’re doing it now, I typed. Three minutes later, she replied. Don’t say another word.
Save everything. I’m on it. I sat on the edge of my bed with my phone in my hand and listened to the sound of Christina downstairs opening cabinets she believed she would own by the weekend.
Then I went to work. I backed up the security footage from the front door camera to two separate cloud accounts and an external drive. I took screenshots of the family group chat, especially the messages where Jonathan and Christina’s triumph had made them careless.
