Three days later, I sat across from an attorney named Rachel Morgan.
I placed every document on her desk.
Rachel barely spoke as she read.
When she finished, she leaned back.
“You purchased all of this furniture?”
“Yes.”
“And your sister acknowledges having it?”
I showed her the photo.
Rachel stared at it.
Then looked at me.
“You have a strong case.”
For the first time since dinner, I smiled.
“Send her a letter.”
Rachel did.
The letter arrived Thursday morning.
At 9:17, Mia called.
“What did you do?”
Her voice was different.
The arrogance was gone.
“I hired a lawyer.”
“You got a lawyer involved over furniture?”
“You took property you didn’t own and refused to return it.”
I heard Karen shouting in the background.
“Tell him he’s destroying this family!”
Mia lowered her voice.
“The letter says forty-eight hours.”
“Then return everything.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You read the letter.”
She hung up.
That evening, Dad called.
This time, he wasn’t angry.
He sounded frightened.
“Thomas…”
“What?”
“Mia showed me the lawyer’s letter.”
“And?”
Silence.
Then:
“There’s something Karen and Mia haven’t told you.”
I sat up.
“What are you talking about?”
Dad took a breath.
“The furniture isn’t in storage.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where is it?”
Another pause.
“An apartment across town.”
“What apartment?”
“I think you need to come here.”
I nearly refused.
But something in Dad’s voice made me go.
When I arrived, he was sitting alone at the kitchen table.
He looked ten years older.
Karen wasn’t there.
“Where is she?”
“Out.”
Dad pushed a folder toward me.
“I found this yesterday.”
Inside was a printed lease application.
A luxury apartment downtown.
Two bedrooms.
Nearly three thousand dollars a month.
Mia’s name appeared under occupant.
Then I reached the guarantor section.
My blood went cold.
THOMAS REED.
My name.
My employer.
My salary.
My date of birth.
And at the bottom—
my signature.
Except I had never signed anything.
“This is fake.”
“I know.”
“How did they get this information?”
Dad looked sick.
“They had copies.”
