I opened the door. “What do you want?”
“We need to talk.”
“I think we said everything that needed saying yesterday.”
He pushed past me into the apartment without invitation.
I considered forcing him out but decided against it. Let him say his peace and leave.
“You embarrassed your mother,” he began, his voice low and accusatory. “In front of your sister and her husband. You aired our private business and caused a massive fight that lasted until past midnight.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“This isn’t funny. You’ve torn this family apart with your selfishness and jealousy.”
I closed the door and leaned against it. “Is that all?”
“I want you to apologize to your mother, your sister, and Travis. I want you to admit that you were wrong and commit to making things right.”
“Or what?”
He pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket.
“Or I press charges.”
I stared at him. “Charges for what?”
“Fraud, identity theft, illegal access to financial information.”
He unfolded the paper, which appeared to be some kind of police report form he printed off the internet.
“You admitted yesterday to accessing our mortgage information without permission. You obtained private details about our financial situation through fraudulent means. That’s a crime.”
The absurdity made me laugh out loud.
“I was listed as a reference on your mortgage application, Thomas. The bank called me. There was no fraud involved.”
“You had no right to keep that information or use it against us.”
“Against you? I kept the information to myself for over a year. I only mentioned it when you kicked me out of the house for refusing to give you money.”
Dad’s jaw clenched. “That’s not how it happened.”
“That’s exactly how it happened. But sure, Thomas, go ahead and file a police report. I’m certain the officers will be very interested in hearing why you’re so upset about me knowing the truth about your finances.”
He stepped closer, trying to intimidate me with his height.
“You think you’re so smart, so much better than the rest of us. But you’re alone, and you’ll stay alone because nobody can love someone as cold and calculating as you.”
The words still didn’t hurt the way he wanted them to.
“Are we done here?” I asked, my patience wearing thin.
“Apologize, or I’m going to the police station right now.”
I walked to my desk and pulled out a folder. “Before you do that, you might want to look at these.”
He took the folder suspiciously. “What is this?”
“Documentation. Bank statements, loan documents, mortgage information, all obtained legally through public records, and information I was entitled to as a listed reference.”
“There’s also a timeline of every conversation we’ve had over the past 4 months where you’ve hinted about needing money, transcripts of text messages from Mom asking me to help out the family, and a detailed breakdown of the financial gifts you’ve given Natalie over the past 10 years compared to what you’ve given me, which totals exactly zero.”
His hands trembled as he flipped through the pages. “Why would you compile all this?”
“Because I’m a financial analyst, and I document things. It’s what I do. And because somewhere around month two of your endless guilt trips, I realized you were building up to something big. I wanted to be prepared.”
Dad threw the folder on my coffee table. “This proves nothing except that you’re paranoid and obsessed with keeping score.”
“It proves that I never accessed anything illegally. It also proves a pattern of financial favoritism and attempted manipulation.”
“So, if you want to go to the police and accuse me of fraud, go ahead. But they’re going to see all of this, and they’re going to have questions about why you’re really filing the report.”
He stood there breathing heavily, clearly trying to figure out his next move.
I softened my voice slightly. “Dad, I don’t want to fight with you. I never did. I just wanted to be treated fairly. The same consideration you showed Natalie, the same support and respect.”
“That’s all I ever wanted.”
“You wanted us to fund your lifestyle,” he scoffed.
“I wanted you to acknowledge my existence. There’s a difference.”
He picked up the folder and tucked it under his arm.
“Your mother is devastated. Natalie won’t stop crying. You’ve destroyed this family.”
“The family was already broken,” I said quietly. “I just stopped pretending it wasn’t.”