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Chapter 6 - The Trap"What do you want to do, Sarah?" Rebecca asked, closing the folder on her desk.

I looked at the woman who was ready to fight for me. Then I thought about my mother screaming at me on Christmas Day, my father telling me I owed Ryan two thousand dollars, and my brother dumping his suitcases on my floor as if I were a servant.

"I want what my grandfather left me," I said, my voice cold and firm. "And I want them to face every single consequence of what they tried to do."

"If we file a formal fraud petition with the probate judge," Rebecca warned, "your father could face criminal charges. He could go to prison."

"He made his choice when he forged my name," I replied. "What is our first step?"

"Our first step," Rebecca said, leaning forward, "is to let them think they are still in control. Your thirty-fifth birthday is in six weeks. They are going to try to contact you to get a live signature to override the bank freeze."

She was right.

Two days later, on January 2nd, my mother called me.

Her tone was completely different from Christmas Day. The screaming was gone. Instead, she spoke in a sweet, drippingly artificial voice that made my skin crawl.

"Sarah, honey... happy New Year," my mother purred.

"Hello, Mom."

"Look, sweetie... your father and I have been thinking about Christmas. We were all just so stressed out with the holidays. Ryan was upset about his trip, and we said things we shouldn't have said."

I stayed silent, letting the pause hang heavy over the line.

"Anyway," she continued quickly, "we want to make it up to you. Your thirty-fifth birthday is coming up in February! We want to host a huge family dinner for you at the country club. Just us, Ryan, Brooke, and the kids. A real celebration!"

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.

"That sounds very nice, Mom," I said smoothly.

"Wonderful!" she gushed, clearly relieved. "Oh, and darling... your father has a few old paperwork items regarding your grandfather's estate that we need to clean up before your birthday. Just minor administrative stuff. Could we meet at the house next Sunday to get those signed?"

May you like

I looked at the notepad beside my computer, where Rebecca had written out our strategy.

"Of course, Mom," I said, my voice sweet and innocent. "I'll be there next Sunday at noon."

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