He said they would surrender. They would drop their nonsense lawsuit. They would tear up the invoice and pretend none of this had happened if only I would call off my lawyer and unlock their accounts. He spoke of my mother crying on the floor, of family, of mercy, as though those words had not been weaponized against me all my life. I let him speak until he exhausted himself. Then I asked whether he really thought dropping a frivolous lawsuit gave him bargaining power against half a million dollars’ worth of documented fraud.
He sobbed that they did not have that kind of money.
I told him I wanted the house.
The line went silent. Then my father whispered the words back to me as if repeating them might change them. Yes, I said, the family house I had already been paying the mortgage on for seven years. The deed was still in their names. I wanted it transferred to me entirely. In exchange, I would not push the criminal fraud angle to its furthest possible conclusion. The civil claim would remain, but the house equity would satisfy the settlement. They would sign by five the next day. They would vacate within thirty days. They would sever ties with me legally and practically. If they refused, Vance would take the cruise photos and fake medical invoices straight to the district attorney.
My mother began sobbing that they would be homeless. My father said I could not possibly do this to them. I leaned forward at my desk and used their own language against them. I told him I needed the assets to secure my future. Had he not always taught me to look out for myself? This was business. They had made it so.