Chapter 11 - The Envelope
Harrison stood slowly.
"Why do you have copies of my mother's tax returns?"
Sloan dropped her purse onto the bed.
Not a Gucci purse this time.
A cheap canvas tote.
I almost smiled at the detail.
"I was organizing financial documents," she said.
"For what?"
"For us."
"My mother's death certificate is not for us."
Sloan's eyes moved to me.
"You told him to search my things?"
"The envelope was under the dresser."
"In our room."
"In my house."
She laughed sharply. "There it is again. My house, my rules, my money."
"Yes," I said. "Those are all accurate statements."
Harrison held up the forged authorization letter.
"Did you sign this?"
Sloan stared at him.
"You know why I did what I did."
My breath stopped.
Harrison's face collapsed.
"You forged her signature?"
"I was trying to keep us afloat."
"You told me you didn't."
"Because you panic."
"You committed fraud."
"Don't be dramatic."
I watched my son hear his own favorite phrase coming from his wife's mouth.
Something in him changed.
"Did you apply for the reverse mortgage?"
Sloan went still.
That was answer enough.
Harrison stepped back as if she had struck him.
"Why?"
"Because this house is worth almost nine hundred thousand dollars and she sits on it like some sacred monument while we drown."
My voice came out calm.
"Daniel built half this house himself."
"Daniel is dead."
The sentence hit the room like broken glass.
Harrison's face twisted.
"Don't talk about Dad like that."
Sloan threw up both hands. "Fine. Keep worshiping the past while your actual family suffers."
I picked up the envelope.
"You are no longer my family."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Careful, Evelyn."
"Is that a threat?"
She smiled.
"No. It's advice."
Then she looked at Harrison.
"Tell her what you did with the rest of the money."
I turned toward my son.
May you like
He went white.
"What rest of the money?"
