Chapter 8 - The Collapsing Narrative
For a long, agonizing moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound on the other end of the line was Kayla’s ragged breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside their empty window.
“You stole everything,” Kayla whispered, her voice trembling between rage and disbelief. “You stole my room! You stole the couch! You can’t just take an entire apartment’s worth of furniture!”
“Actually, I can,” I said, leaning back comfortably against my leather sectional. “Every single item in that apartment—every screw, every plank, every piece of fabric, and every electronic device—was purchased with my own hard-earned money. Not a single cent of your allowance or Mom’s pension touched those receipts. Legally and morally, it’s all mine. And since I moved out, I simply took what belonged to me.”
Mom snatched the phone back from Kayla, her expression shifting from blind fury to a desperate, calculating panic as the economic reality of the situation finally began to sink into her skull.
“Rachel, listen to me right now,” Mom said, her voice dropping into a tight, trembling whisper. “Put the furniture back. We can talk about the rent. Maybe we can compromise on twelve hundred dollars—fifteen hundred! But you cannot leave an empty apartment! I have prospective tenants coming to look at the building next week! People expect a furnished, luxury unit!”
“Then I suggest you start shopping,” I smiled coldly. “Because replacing a luxury leather sectional, a king-size mattress set, high-end kitchen appliances, custom bookshelves, and designer light fixtures is going to cost you roughly twenty-five thousand dollars out of pocket.”
Mom gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Twenty-five thousand?! Are you insane?!”
“No, Mom. I’m just being financially responsible,” I replied brightly. “After all, you taught me that family obligations mean taking care of yourself first. Isn't that right?”
Kayla started crying in the background, throwing her shopping bags onto the bare floorboards in a toddler-esque fit of temper. “I want my room back! Make her bring the bed back, Mom! I have nowhere to sleep tonight!”
May you like
“Cry to your friends,” I said evenly. “Goodbye, Mom. Enjoy your empty investment property.”
I tapped the red end-call button, cutting off the shrieks of absolute devastation before blocking both of their numbers with a single, satisfying swipe.
