Ethan’s face turned an ashen gray. He fumbled for words, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “That’s… that’s not possible. The realtor said—”
“The realtor is a family friend who was reporting to my father the entire time,” I interrupted. “He knew exactly who you were, Ethan. He knew about the gambling debts you tried to hide from me, and he knew about the ‘work trips’ that were actually just you chasing opportunities to cheat. My family has been watching you since the day we met. They were just waiting for you to prove them right.”
I turned my attention to the movers, who had stopped working, sensing the shifting gravity of the situation. “Gentlemen, please stop,” I said, my voice projecting across the lawn. “Every item in this house is either estate property or mine. The furniture, the appliances, the decor—it is all inventoried. You are currently in the process of moving stolen goods, which will make you liable for damages.”
The lead mover dropped the box he was holding and looked at his clipboard, then at Ethan. “Sir? You told us everything here belonged to you.”
Ethan lunged for the envelope in my hand, but he was too slow, and his movements were hampered by his own panic. I stepped back, and within seconds, a black sedan pulled into the driveway. My father stepped out, followed by a local officer. The scene transformed from a domestic dispute into a legal eviction. My father didn’t shout; he didn’t even look at Ethan. He walked straight to the officer and handed over a packet of documents.
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