“Did I make a mistake calling you? Am I destroying my family?”
He looked at me steadily.
“No, Natalie. The mistake was theirs. They assumed you were as powerless as they needed you to be.”
Then he asked permission to begin an internal investigation into Meredith’s file access and communications.
I gave it.
That evening, I returned home and prepared for the “final family meeting” my parents demanded.
Which brought us back to the oak table.
My father pointed at the contract.
“Sign it and keep peace in this family,” he said. “Refuse, and you lose us forever.”
The room went silent.
I looked at my mother’s false tears, my father’s angry face, and Meredith’s smug smile.
Then I folded my hands.
“I will not sell my home for a fraction of its value to improve Meredith’s investment portfolio,” I said calmly.
My father slammed his fist on the table.
“Then you’re no longer my daughter!”
I stood.
“Before you decide that’s a punishment,” I said, looking at Meredith, “you should know I spent this afternoon downtown speaking with Grant Whitaker about the confidential redevelopment documents you brought into my house.”
Meredith’s face drained of color.
My mother blinked. “Who is Grant Whitaker?”