fiction

Chapter 7 - The Unraveling

By Wednesday evening, the veneer of smug entitlement that had defined my family for decades had completely dissolved into frantic, sniveling panic.

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According to our live audio feeds—courtesy of a tiny, legally dubious smart-home microphone Julian had slipped through the mail slot earlier in the week—my parents' house sounded like a war zone.

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"You did this!" Darcy screamed at the top of her lungs in the living room, her voice echoing through my phone speaker as Sam and I sat eating takeout pizza in his studio. "You told me to take the check! You said Iris was just being selfish and that family always comes first!".

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"I did not tell you to forge her signature, you moron!" Mom shrieked back, sobbing hysterically. "You’re the one who signed her name like a clumsy toddler! Now we’re all going to federal prison because you couldn't wait two weeks to buy designer boots!".

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"Enough! Both of you, shut up!" Dad roared, slamming his fist against the kitchen counter so hard glasses rattled. "We don't even have thirty-four thousand dollars in liquid savings to pay them back by tomorrow morning! My retirement accounts are locked down, and the credit union froze our home equity line!".

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"Well, sell something!" Darcy wailed. "Sell the boat! Sell Mom’s jewelry! I am not going to prison wearing an orange jumpsuit!".

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I muted the phone audio and took a slow bite of my pizza, looking across the table at Sam, who was grinning ear to ear.

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"They're squabbling over who gets thrown under the bus first," Sam observed, pouring himself a glass of cheap red wine. "Classic Greek tragedy structure. Hubris always precedes the absolute fall."

"They thought they could steal from me because they assumed I would just swallow the pain like I always did," I said quietly, watching the soundwaves bounce across my screen. "They never imagined I'd fight back with an entire theatrical production company behind me."

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"Never underestimate the destructive power of artists with too much free time and a personal vendetta," Sam laughed. "Are we ready for Act Three tomorrow morning?"

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"Oh, absolutely," I replied, my eyes narrowing. "Let's bring down the final curtain."

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