“Yes, I’m Officer Miller with the Hometown Police Department. We’re conducting a welfare check on a Robert and Linda.”
“My parents?” I asked, gripping the edge of the desk. “What happened?”
“Well, ma’am, your mother called 911, claiming your father suffered a heart attack due to extreme stress from financial neglect. She stated that you have power of attorney and that you’ve frozen his assets.”
I almost dropped the phone. They were using the police as a weapon. They were trying to force me back. “Officer,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I don’t have power of attorney. I live in Washington state. My parents are fully capable adults. This is a harassment tactic because I refuse to pay my brother’s legal fees for a theft charge.”
There was a pause.
“I see,” the officer said, changing his tone. “We’re at the residence. Your father seems… well, he says he has chest pains, but his vitals are stable. He demands that we call him.”
“Tell him I’m not going,” I sighed, tears of frustration welling in my eyes. “And, officer, please check your records. My brother Jason is probably there. He has an outstanding issue with the electronics store at the mall.”
I hung up and sat there shaking. They were going crazy. They were willing to fake a medical emergency and file false police reports just to get me back in their clutches. I needed to end this, not just run away, but finish it. I opened my laptop and started investigating. I’d been a supply chain manager for 10 years. I knew how to track things. I knew how to find the weak point. I checked public records. I paid for a thorough background check on my parents, something I should have done years ago. What I found blew my mind. My parents weren’t just strapped for cash. They were broke. Three years ago, they’d taken out a massive home equity line of credit. The stated purpose: home improvements. But looking at the dates, the withdrawals perfectly matched Jason’s business dealings. $20,000 for a cryptocurrency mining rig that never materialized. $15,000 for a down payment on a car lease. $10,000 for a branding consultancy. They’d drained their home equity to fund Jason’s delusions. They were drowning. If they didn’t pay soon, the bank would foreclose. That’s why they needed my house money. It wasn’t just for Jason’s theft charge. It was to save their house. They were weeks away from losing everything, and they’d pinned all their hopes on seizing my life savings. And then I saw the key: a notarized document filed with the county clerk six months earlier, a deed of release. My parents had given Jason the title to their house. They’d given him the house to protect it from creditors, probably because of some shady advice he found online. But Jason, being Jason, had already taken advantage of the deed. There was a lien on the property from a private lender, basically a loan shark. Jason had mortgaged the house on them without their knowledge. I sat staring at the screen. They were trying to destroy me to save a house that didn’t even belong to them anymore. Jason had already stolen it. I had the irrefutable proof. I had the proof that would shatter his entire reality. I grabbed my phone and checked the calendar. My cousin’s wedding was this weekend in my hometown. I hadn’t planned on going, but now, now, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. The wedding was at a winery about 30 minutes from town. It was exactly the kind of place my cousin Jessica had always dreamed of: rustic and elegant, expensive wine, and a guest list that included half the town. I arrived late on purpose. I was wearing a dress I’d bought in Seattle, an elegant emerald-green silk that made me feel like armor. I looked triumphant. I looked carefree. I looked like someone who hadn’t spent the last week dodging false police reports. I saw them right away.My parents and Jason were sitting at a table near the back. They looked terrible. Dad was pale and hunched over. Mom looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Jason, though, was wearing a tuxedo I knew he hadn’t paid for, laughing uproariously with a group of bridesmaids, holding a glass of champagne. He was drinking champagne while his parents sat there, drowning in the debt he’d created. I made my way through the reception, greeting relatives who eyed me with varying degrees of curiosity. The rumors must have started. Mabel dumped them. Mabel stole their money. I kept my head high. I grabbed a glass of sparkling water and headed for the terrace. I knew they’d follow. It took less than five minutes. “You’re too nervous to show up here.”
Dad’s voice sounded harsh behind me. I turned around. They were all there, the unholy trinity. Dad looked furious, his fists clenched. Mom looked desperate, glancing around to see who was looking. Jason brought up the rear, looking annoyed at the interruption to his party.
“It’s Jessica’s wedding, Dad. I was invited,” I said calmly.
“After what you did to us,” Mom whispered, coming closer, wearing a cloyingly sweet perfume. “The police told us everything, Mabel. They said you refused to come. You let your father die.”
“I talked to the officer. Mom, Dad’s vitals were stable. And considering you’re here yelling at me, I guess he made a miraculous recovery,” I replied, taking a sip of water.
“You’re cold,” Dad snapped. “You’re a cold, ruthless woman, but this ends today. You’re going to write us a check for $20,000 right now, or I’m going to step up to that microphone during the toasts and tell everyone in this room exactly what you are.”
“20,000?” I asked. “The price keeps going up. Is that to cover the interest on the loan shark’s note?”
Jason froze. The color drained from his face so fast it was like a blind closing.
“What?” Dad frowned, looking at Jason and me. “Which loan shark?”
“Oh, Jason didn’t tell you,” I asked, feigning surprise.
I set my glass down on a high table and opened my bag. I pulled out the folded papers I’d printed at the hotel business center that morning. I did a little research, I said, my voice barely raised to get the attention of the nearest table, because I didn’t understand why you were so desperate. I knew Jason had stolen the game consoles. I knew about the $5,000 restitution, but $20,000? That seemed like a lot. I handed the first document to my father.
“Do you recognize this, Dad?”
He squinted at the paper.
“It’s… it’s a deed.”
“A deed of release. Look at the signature,” I pointed out
. He looked.
“It’s… it’s mine. And Linda’s.”
“You signed that six months ago,” I said. “Jason told you it was a property protection form to lower your taxes, right?”
Mom gasped.
“Yes,” she said. “He said the city was going to raise the rates.”
“He lied,” I said, staring at Jason, who was now looking for a way out. “He made you give him the house. Sole proprietorship. You don’t own your house, Dad. Jason does.”
“That’s a lie,” Jason shouted, but his voice cracked. “She’s lying. She forged it.”
“And this,” I said, handing Dad the second document, “is a lien filed against the property three weeks ago by a private lender known for its high-risk, high-interest loans. Jason took out a $50,000 loan using the house as collateral.”
“$50,000?” Mom whispered, her knees bent. She grabbed the edge of the table to pull herself up.
“Where’s the money, Jason?” I asked, moving closer to him. “Did you spend it on the brand or gamble it away? Because it’s all gone, and now, since you haven’t paid, they’re starting foreclosure proceedings. I saw the notice of default filed yesterday.
” “Foreclosure?” Dad’s voice was a low rumble, like an impending earthquake. He looked up from the papers, his eyes wide with horror. “Jason, tell me she’s lying.”
“It’s not what it looks like,” Jason stammered, backing away, his hands raised defensively. “I had a sure thing, an investment. It was going to triple in value. I was going to pay off the house and buy them a boat. It just… the market crashed.”
“You gambled away our house?” Mom screamed. It wasn’t crying. It was a scream of pure, agonizing betrayal. The sound stopped the music. The entire wedding reception fell silent. Hundreds of eyes turned toward the deck.
“Mom, keep your voice down,” Jason hissed, looking around frantically.
“You stole our house,” Dad roared, crumpling the paper in his fist. “We’re homeless. We’re not homeless because of you.”
“I was trying to help,” Jason shouted, his narcissism erupting in one last desperate defense. “If Mabel had given me the money, I could have made the payments. It’s her fault. She’s the one with the money. She’s the selfish one.”
“It was me,” I said, my voice echoing in the silence, “who offered you a place to live. It was me who offered you a place to move into my house. But you couldn’t do it, could you, Jason? Because you knew. You knew there were no houses left for you to move into.”
I turned to my parents. They looked devastated, aged 10 years in 10 seconds. Realization dawned on them. Every time they had chosen him, every time they had taken money from me to give to him, every excuse they had made up, they had financed their own destruction.
“You wanted me to pay his bills,” I whispered to my mother. “You wanted my mortgage check, not to help him get back on his feet, but to pay off the debt he created by stealing your house. You were going to leave me with nothing to cover his crimes.”
“We didn’t know,” Mom sobbed, tears streaming down her face, ruining her makeup. “Mabel, please. We didn’t know.”
“You should have known,” I said. “You should have looked, but you never look at Jason. You only look at me when you need something.”
“Mabel,” Dad stepped forward, extending his trembling hand, “Mabel, we… what do we do? We have nowhere to go. You have to help us, please. We can come to Seattle just for a little while.”
The audacity was breathtaking. Even in the face of utter ruin, their instinct told them to turn to the next host. I looked at my father. I looked at the man who had told me, “Family helps family,” while he stole my childhood. I looked at the man who had called the police to make me pay for a thief.
“No,” I said.
The word hung in the air, heavy and resounding.
“Mabel,” Mom whispered.
