Still nothing.
Rain soaked them.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Harper started pounding on the door.
“Naomi!”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“I know you were doing this.”
A neighbor’s curtain moved across the street.
I activated the audio feed.
“You are seriously making a pregnant woman stand outside in this weather,” she screamed.
I pressed the intercom.
Both froze.
“You have 5 minutes to remove that truck from my property before I have it towed at your expense.”
Harper stared into the camera.
“You can’t do this to family.”
Chase moved closer.
“Naomi, let’s just talk like adults.”
The man falsifying residency documents suddenly wanted adult conversation.
“I’m starting the tow request in 4 minutes,” I said calmly.
Then Mom’s car pulled in behind the U-Haul.
Of course.
She called six times afterward.
I ignored every call.
When private guilt failed, she changed tactics.
Monday morning, I received an expensive cream invitation to Harper Sterling’s baby shower at Ashton Gardens Country Club.
At the bottom, Mom had handwritten that Harper needed her sister.
I almost threw it away.
Then Thomas called.
“You should probably come,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
After a pause, he answered.
“Your mother’s been telling people you worked things out.”
I leaned back.
“What exactly does worked things out mean?”
Another pause.
Then she told everyone, “You’re making an announcement about the house.”
Mom had turned a baby shower into a real-estate press conference.
So I went.
Saturday was cold and bright. Ashton Gardens looked exactly like the kind of place people with hidden debt wanted life to look.
Stone entrance.
Perfect hedges.
White flowers.
Valet parking.
I arrived at 12:56 p.m. in dark Coast Guard dress slacks and a fitted black blazer.
No gift.
No pastel colors.
Just a heavy manila folder.
Inside were loan records, debt notices, residency-fraud documentation, apartment delinquency reports, and eviction warnings from Crestview Luxury Residences.
Harper and Chase were 93 days behind on rent.
The ballroom held around forty guests.
Harper sat near the gifts in pale pink.
Mom hurried toward me the moment she saw me.
“Oh, good,” she said breathlessly. “You came.”
“I said I would.”
She noticed the folder.
“What’s that?”
“Paperwork.”
Across the room, Chase stood beside his parents, Richard and Linda Sterling.
Everything around us projected controlled perfection.
Harper opened gifts.
Mom managed conversations.
Chase smiled too hard.
Then Evelyn tapped her champagne glass.
