Chapter 3 - The Vermont Estate
The drive to Vermont took five hours.
Mason insisted on coming with me, refusing to answer the dozens of frantic text messages our parents were sending him.
“They are dead to me,” Mason had said when he turned his phone off.
We pulled onto the winding, tree-lined dirt road just as the sun began to set.
My heart pounded as the massive, rustic lake house came into view.
I had not been here since I was ten years old.
The house was breathtaking, with a wraparound porch and massive glass windows overlooking the crystal-clear water.
But as we parked in the gravel driveway, I noticed something was terribly wrong.
There were empty beer bottles scattered across the pristine front lawn.
The porch furniture was overturned, and loud bass music was thumping from inside the house.
“Are you kidding me?” Mason muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt.
I grabbed the thick manila folder containing the deed from the backseat.
I marched up the wooden steps, my blood boiling with every step.
I did not bother knocking.
I pushed the heavy oak front door open and walked into my own house.
The living room was a disaster zone of spilled drinks, dirty plates, and sleeping bags.
Ashley was lounging on my grandmother's antique velvet sofa, holding a glass of expensive champagne.
Five of her wealthy, entitled friends were scattered around the room.
Jordan, her husband, was nowhere to be seen.
Ashley froze when she saw me standing in the doorway.
“What the hell are you doing here, Claire?” Ashley shrieked, sitting up quickly.
“You are ruining my post-wedding relaxation weekend!”
I walked over to the stereo system and yanked the power cord straight out of the wall.
The sudden silence was absolutely glorious.
“Get out of my house,” I commanded, my voice echoing in the large room.
Ashley laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that grated on my nerves.
“Your house?” she scoffed. “My parents own this place, you pathetic little orphan.”
She actually used the word orphan as a weapon against me.
Mason stepped up beside me, glaring at our cousin.
“They lied to you, Ashley,” Mason said coldly. “They lied to all of us.”
I slammed the official property deed onto the glass coffee table, right next to her champagne flute.
“Read it,” I ordered her.
Ashley rolled her eyes, but she picked up the document.
Her smug expression vanished instantly, replaced by a look of utter confusion and panic.
“This is a fake,” Ashley stammered, dropping the paper as if it burned her fingers.
“It is signed by a federal judge, Ashley,” I replied calmly.
“You have exactly ten minutes to pack your trash and leave this property.”
“If you are still here in eleven minutes, I am calling the local sheriff to arrest you for trespassing and breaking and entering.”
Her friends started whispering nervously among themselves.
“You can’t do this to me!” Ashley screamed, throwing a throw pillow at the wall.
“I just got married, I deserve a vacation!”
“You paid for your wedding with my stolen college fund,” I reminded her loudly.
“You are lucky I am not having you arrested for receiving stolen property right now.”
Ashley looked at Mason for help, but he just crossed his arms and stared her down.
She burst into dramatic, hysterical tears.
Her friends quickly grabbed their designer duffel bags and ran for the front door, eager to escape the drama.
Ashley had no choice but to follow them, sobbing uncontrollably.
I stood on the porch and watched them drive away into the darkness.
May you like
I finally breathed a sigh of relief.
I was home.
