Chapter 3 - Confrontation at the Kitchen Table

The heavy oak front door of the Carmona house didn't yield easily, but when I planted the heel of my boot against the frame, the cheap latch that Derek had hastily installed splintered with a sharp crack.

The sound echoed through the hallway like a gunshot.

Within seconds, heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs. Derek appeared at the landing, his hair disheveled, wearing a silk bathrobe that screamed unearned luxury. His face contorted from sleepy irritation to utter astonishment when he saw me standing in the foyer.

"David?" Derek stammered, grabbing the banister. "What the hell are you doing? How did you get in here?"

"I broke in, little brother," I said smoothly, walking past him into the living room as if I owned the place—because, legally and morally, my family did. "Or should I say, you broke in. Last time I checked, kicking owners out of their own home and locking them in a storage shed is called kidnapping and extortion."

Veronica rushed down the stairs behind him, her face flushing bright red with indignation. "Who do you think you are, storming in here like you own the place? Your parents signed everything over to us! They're old, they're incompetent, and this house belongs to us now!"

"Is that what the paperwork says, Veronica?" I asked, turning to face them with a cold, unyielding smile. "Strange. My lawyer calls it fraud. In fact, Inez just filed an emergency injunction freezing every single account you and Derek have touched. Try using your credit cards today, Derek. Go ahead. Buy yourself another espresso or a tank of gas. See what happens."

Derek’s face drained of color. He lunged forward, his hands clenched into fists. "You son of a bitch! You had no right—"

"I have every right!" I roared, stepping directly into his personal space, towering over him. "I sent four thousand dollars every month to take care of Mom and Dad! And what did you do? You treated them like dirt, stole their life savings, and banished them to a moldy shed while you threw parties with stolen money!"

Before Derek could swing or stammer out another excuse, the back door creaked open. My parents walked in from the yard, carrying a basket of laundry. My mother gasped, dropping a towel to the floor, while my father stepped protectively in front of her.

"David..." my father whispered, his voice trembling. "You shouldn't have come back. It's dangerous..."

"It's over, Dad," I said, walking over to them and gently taking the laundry basket from my mother's frail hands. I looked back at Derek and Veronica, who were now sweating profusely under the weight of my glare. "You two have twenty-four hours to pack your bags, clear out your junk, and get off this property. If you aren't gone by tomorrow morning, I won't just let the lawyers handle it. I will personally ensure every fraudulent document you forged lands you both in a federal penitentiary."

Veronica scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. "You can't kick us out! We have the title!"

"You have a fraudulent piece of paper signed by a heavily medicated man under duress," I replied coldly. "And by sundown today, even that won't matter, because Dad and I are going to open whatever is hidden behind that rusty key you two have been tearing the house apart to find."

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At the mention of the key, Derek’s expression shifted from rage to sheer panic. He exchanged a frantic, wide-eyed look with Veronica.

It was the confirmation I needed. Whatever that key unlocked, it wasn't just a sentimental keepsake—it was the linchpin of their entire scheme, and they knew their house of cards was about to collapse.