Chapter 6 - THE PANIC IN THE PARLOR
That night, at 7:00 PM, Simone and I were sitting at her dining table when a heavy knock sounded on the front door.
Simone looked through the doorbell camera app on her phone.
Standing on the porch steps in the biting winter wind were my parents. Mom was wrapped in her heavy beige coat, clutching a handkerchief, while Dad stood beside her, leaning heavily on a wooden cane, looking older and more frail than I had ever seen him.
“Do you want me to turn on the security alarm and call the police?” Simone asked.
“No,” I said, standing up. “Let them in. It’s time to finish this face-to-face.”
Simone opened the door.
Mom practically burst inside before Simone could even invite them. “Cassidy! Oh thank God you’re here!” Mom wailed, rushing toward me with her arms outstretched.
I stepped back, keeping the wide dining table between us. “Stop right there, Mom.”
Dad limped into the foyer, his heavy cane thumping against the hardwood floor. His forehead was slick with sweat, his jaw set in a hard, tight line.
“Cassidy,” Dad grunted, his voice tight. “What is this nonsense your brother told us? What is this about a legal lien on our house?”
“It’s not nonsense, Mr. Miller,” Simone spoke up, stepping forward with her arms crossed, stepping into her role as my legal counsel. “I am Simone Vance, senior partner at Vance & Sterling. I am representing your daughter in a civil fraud and unjust enrichment lawsuit against you both.”
Dad glared at Simone. “This is a family matter! Stay out of this, little girl!”
“It stopped being a family matter the moment you committed constructive fraud against my client,” Simone fired back, her legal authority filling the room. “You accepted over eighty-eight thousand dollars in direct mortgage relief from your daughter under the false pretense of financial destitution, while concealing a four-hundred-and-twenty-thousand-dollar legal settlement.”
The room went dead silent.
Mom gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, looking at Dad in sheer panic.
Dad’s mouth opened, but no sound came out for five agonizing seconds. “How... how did you...”
“It’s a matter of public court record, Dad,” I said, staring at him. “Did you really think I would never find out? Did you really think you could keep taking my hard-earned money month after month, year after year, while sitting on nearly half a million dollars?”
“Cassidy, listen to me!” Mom pleaded, stepping closer to the table, tears streaming down her face. “That settlement money was for your father’s long-term medical care! We didn't know how long it had to last! What if his back got worse? What if he needed spinal fusion surgery in ten years? We had to protect that money!”
“By stealing mine?!” I screamed, the roar tearing out of my throat, four years of built-up pain and humiliation bursting through my composure.
Mom flinched as if I had hit her.
“You let me work sixty hours a week!” I cried out, my voice cracking. “I skipped meals! I didn't buy new clothes for three years! I drove a broken car with no air conditioning in the middle of summer because I was terrified you’d lose the house! And all the while, you had four hundred thousand dollars sitting in a high-yield account, and you bought Brent a brand-new fifty-thousand-dollar truck!”
“Brent needed a break!” Dad roared back, leaning on his cane, his eyes bulging with rage. “Brent was down on his luck! You were doing fine! You had a corporate job!”
“I was doing fine because I worked myself to the bone!” I yelled back. “And you punished me for it! You took every dime I earned and gave it to the son who didn't do a damn thing for this family!”
“Cassidy, please...” Mom sobbed, wringing her hands nervously. “We’re family! You can't sue your own parents! What will the neighbors say? What will the church say?”
“The public lawsuit hasn't been served yet, Mrs. Miller,” Simone interrupted calmly, pulling a legal document from her briefcase and placing it on the table. “Right now, it is merely a registered title lien. But if my client files the full civil complaint in Circuit Court on Monday morning, the settlement records, the truck purchase records, and your bank statements will become public record. Everyone in town will know exactly what you did to your daughter.”
Dad stared at the legal document on the table. His chest heaved. He looked at Simone, then turned to look at me.
For the first time in my life, I saw fear in my father’s eyes. Not anger. Fear.
“What do you want?” Dad rasped, his voice suddenly sounding old, tired, and completely broken.
May you like
I looked at the man who had raised me, feeling a profound, quiet sadness for the relationship we would never have again.
“I want what’s mine,” I said smoothly.
