“I always thought something was wrong,” I said quietly. “I graduated at the top of my class. I had professors’ recommendations and made it to the final interviews at several major companies. And yet, somehow, every single one of them rejected me without explanation.”
I fixed my gaze on my father. His eyes darted away.
“Around that time, anonymous emails were sent to the HR departments of the companies I was about to join. Emails claiming that Mandy Hansen suffers from a severe mental illness and was a troublemaker at university.”
“What are you talking about?”
He tried to play dumb.
“IP addresses don’t lie, Dad. The emails were sent from this house, and the timestamps match the hours you were in your study. You pushed me into unemployment on purpose, didn’t you? Because if I became independent, you wouldn’t be able to keep committing fraud using my name.”
“No, it was for your own good.”
“And you, Mom,” I said, turning to my mother. “I finally understand why no matter how hard I worked, I never saved any money and why I kept failing credit card screenings.”
Attorney Watson produced a set of bank statements.
“This is the account Mandy used to repay her student loans. She deposited money every month from her part-time jobs. However, the funds were automatically redirected, not to the loan agency, but to a hidden account in Mrs. Hansen’s name.”
My mother gasped.
“And yet, Mom, you kept telling me I wasn’t trying hard enough, that I should be more like Ashley. Because of you, I was blacklisted as a delinquent borrower. I couldn’t even rent a proper apartment. You destroyed my credit. You forced me to juggle three jobs and still live in fear of ending up on the streets.”
My mother covered her mouth with trembling hands.
My poverty wasn’t bad luck. It wasn’t a lack of effort. It was a cage carefully, deliberately built by my own parents.
“And you, Ashley?” I turned to my sister.
She glared back at me as if she were the victim.
“Kevin’s parents are living in the vacation house, aren’t they?”
“So what if they are?” Ashley replied, jutting out her chin. “Kevin’s mom and dad retired and wanted a quiet place to live, so I let them stay there. What’s wrong with that? It’s better than leaving the place empty.”
“You let them stay?” I raised an eyebrow. “For free?”
“Of course. They’re family.”
“Don’t lie.”
I nodded slightly to Attorney Watson.
Without a word, he presented the next document.
“These are the deposit records for a bank account under Ashley Thompson’s name,” Attorney Watson read calmly. “On the first of every month, $5,000 is transferred from the account of Kevin Thompson’s parents. The stated purpose of the transfer is rent.”
My grandmother spoke first.
“Ashley, so you not only stole Mandy’s house, but then used it to squeeze rent out of your in-laws as well.”
“No, that’s not it,” Ashley screamed. “That was a maintenance fee. It’s a huge house. It costs money to keep it up. And Kevin’s parents are rich anyway. $5,000 a month is nothing to them.”
“That’s not the point,” I said quietly, but with force. “You took my house without permission and made $5,000 a month off it. Meanwhile, I, the rightful owner, could barely afford food for the next day. You knew that.”
Ashley’s eyes darted away.
“Mom, listen,” my father leaned forward, trying to intervene. “Yes, maybe the way we did it was a little heavy-handed, but look at the outcome. The house is well-maintained, and Ashley’s in-laws are happy. Isn’t that far better for the family as a whole than letting Mandy live there alone? We can always give Mandy some money later. A severance payment? No, a consolation payment and settle this.”
“A consolation payment?” my grandmother repeated in a low voice.
The stem of the wine glass in her hand creaked ominously.
“When my granddaughter was on the brink of sleeping on the streets, you were living in luxury off her property. And now you think you can settle it with consolation money?”
“But Mom, Mandy is still young. Hardship builds character, doesn’t it?”
“Shut up.”
My grandmother’s roar echoed through the room.
“I wrote to Mandy every single month. I asked, ‘How’s the house? Are you having any trouble?’ But I never received a single reply. Instead, George kept telling me, ‘Mandy is so mentally unstable, she can’t even write a thank-you note.’”
I shook my head.
Not a single letter ever reached me.
“Of course not,” my grandmother said coldly, turning to my parents. “Every letter I sent was addressed to this house. You claimed Mandy was mentally unstable and said you would hold on to them for her. And you never gave me her real address. You crushed my letters and cut off all contact from Mandy as well, didn’t you?”