Chapter 8 - The Broken Sister
At ten o'clock the following morning, I was at home in my kitchen, helping Bella paint a wooden birdhouse for the backyard garden, when the front doorbell rang.
I looked at the security monitor.
Standing on the front porch was Vanessa.
She looked completely destroyed. Her hair was greasy and pulled into a messy ponytail, she wore no makeup, and her clothes were rumpled and dirty. She was holding a plastic grocery bag in one hand, weeping uncontrollably into her sleeve.
I walked to the front door, opened it, but kept the heavy iron storm door locked between us.
"Maya... please," Vanessa sobbed, pressing her forehead against the glass of the iron door. "Please open the door. Please."
"You have thirty seconds to state your business, Vanessa," I said coldly, my hands resting in my coat pockets.
"They fired me, Maya!" Vanessa wailed, her hands clutching the iron bars. "My boss saw the press conference! He fired me this morning! The bank froze my checking account! I went to buy groceries for Chloe and my debit card was declined! I have no money! I have zero dollars!"
"You had $6,000 a month for seven years," I reminded her mercilessly. "Where are your savings?"
"I... I spent it!" Vanessa cried out. "I bought clothes! I leased the BMW! I didn't save anything because... because I thought the money was always going to come!"
"You thought wrong."
"Maya, please!" Vanessa dropped to her knees on the cold concrete porch, clutching her hands together like a beggar. "Chloe is seven years old! She has no food in the house! They're going to foreclose on my mortgage next month! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! It was Mom's idea! Mom told me to call the police on Bella! Mom told me to go to the journalists! I just did what she said!"
I looked down at my sister kneeling on the porch—the same sister who, six days ago, had demanded that police officers put something on my five-year-old daughter's record.
"You blamed a five-year-old child to save yourself then," I said softly, my voice filled with utter disgust. "And now you're blaming your mother to save yourself now. You haven't changed at all, Vanessa."
"Maya, please don't do this to your own sister!" she wept.
I unlocked the iron door, opened it three inches, and dropped a thick brown paper envelope onto the porch floor beside her knees.
"What is this?" Vanessa stammered, picking up the envelope with shaking hands.
"Inside is a flight ticket to our aunt’s house in Ohio, a lease termination agreement for your house, and a five-thousand-dollar cashier's check made out directly to Chloe's educational trust fund," I said flatly. "You sign the land lien release waiver inside that envelope, pack your bags, and leave this city by tomorrow morning. You will get no cash. You will get no monthly transfers. But your daughter won't starve."
Vanessa looked at the envelope, then looked up at me with raw, bloodshot eyes. "And if I don't sign?"
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"Then my legal team proceeds with the $2.48 million lawsuit, and you will be bankrupt, homeless, and in prison by winter," I said, looking down at her. "Choose wisely."
Vanessa snatched the envelope, clutched it against her chest, and sprinted down the driveway without looking back once.
