I did the math. Eighty percent of 1.1 million was 880,000 dollars. But if I pushed—
“The structure is pristine. New roof. And the occupants will be out of the country on vacation when we close. You won’t have to fight them to get in. You’ll just have to keep them out.”
Silence on the line. I could practically hear her calculating the reduced risk.
“If the property is vacant at closing,” Stella said slowly, “we can do 980,000 dollars. But we take possession immediately. We change locks. We secure the perimeter. When they come back, it’s our problem, not yours.”
“Deal,” I said.
“I’ll email the contract tonight. Electronic signature. We’ll wire the funds upon clear title.”
I hung up and sat back in my chair, ignoring the ache in my hip. For two years, I had been playing defense—accommodating, compromising, trying to be the good daughter.
It was time to play offense.
I pulled out my laptop and opened my browser. Searched: iPhone 15 Pro. In stock. Austin pickup. The Apple Store had them. I could pick one up tonight.
Phone B. The lifeline. The phone that would hold my work email, my banking apps, my two-factor authentication codes. The phone my parents would never have access to.
Phone A. My current iPhone 11 Pro Max would become the trap. The bait. The thing that made them believe they still had control.
I placed the order and stood up, wincing slightly. Tomorrow, the real work would begin. Tonight, I just needed to stop shaking.
The next morning, by the time the sun rose following my eavesdropping, the last remnants of my guilt had evaporated. I woke up not with sadness, but with a cold, crystalline clarity.
I walked into the kitchen at 7 a.m. to find Dad making coffee like he was the lord of the manor. Mom was at the table, scrolling through her phone.
“Oh good, you’re up,” Mom said without looking at me. “We need to finalize the Italy arrangements. Arthur wants to upgrade the flights to business class—coach is terrible for his knee—and I found this absolutely darling hotel in Tuscany.”
I poured myself coffee, watching the steam rise. “I’ll look at the flight options today.”
Mom beamed. “Wonderful. Oh, and we’ll need spending money. Maybe $3,000? For dinners and souvenirs.”
“Fine.”
They both blinked. The fight they were bracing for never came.
“Really?” Mom’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicious of the easy victory.
“Really.” I set down my mug, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “You’re right. You deserve a nice vacation. After everything you’ve been through financially, you should enjoy yourselves.”
Dad relaxed, satisfied. “That’s more like it. I knew you’d come around. Family takes care of family, Skyler. That’s what your aunt would have wanted.”
Aunt Alice would have set the house on fire before she let these vultures pick over her life’s work. But I just nodded.
“I’ll book the flights this morning.”
Later that morning, my phone rang. It was Stella Wright from Lone Star Holdings.
“We’ve reviewed the title,” she said, businesslike and cold. “It’s clean. We’re ready to move forward. The contract is in your inbox. $980,000 cash. Closing date is set for Friday the 14th.”
“Excellent.”
“Just to reiterate, Ms. Bennett, we are buying this as an investment vehicle. The moment funds are wired, our security team takes control of the asset. We do not tolerate trespassing. You’re sure the occupants will be gone?”
“They leave for Italy in forty-eight hours,” I confirmed. “The house will be empty.”
“Perfect. Sign the papers and we’re in business.”
After hanging up, I sat at my desk. 980,000 dollars. Combined with my savings, I would have nearly a million dollars. Enough to disappear. Enough to start over.
But first, I had to get them on that plane.
The next two days were a masterclass in deception. I played the submissive daughter perfectly. I upgraded their flights to business class. I booked the five-star hotel with the vineyard views. I transferred $3,000 to Mom’s checking account. I even helped Dad pack his golf clubs—he’d wanted to bring them “for networking”—but Mom vetoed it due to baggage fees.
“Leave the clubs home, Arthur,” she had commanded. “We’re going to wine country, not St. Andrews.”
He had grumbled but complied, leaving the heavy bag in the garage.
I made a mental note. The clubs stay here.
The morning of their departure arrived in a pre-dawn haze. I drove them to the airport at 4 a.m. The trunk was packed with three huge suitcases for a two-week trip.
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