Chapter 2 - The Golden Child's Meltdown and the Reality Check
Tessa’s face turned the color of a bruised plum. She spun around, pointing a trembling, manicured finger directly at my chest, her voice screeching across the quiet suburban morning.
"Are you insane?!" Tessa shrieked, her voice cracking as neighbors began pulling back their curtains across the street. "You're kicking us out?! Where are we supposed to go?! I have a business to run! I have photo shoots scheduled! You can't do this to me, Ian! You've always taken care of us! You're legally obligated!"
"Legally obligated?" I stepped closer, letting her feel the full weight of my presence. "Tessa, you are thirty-two years old. You haven't held a job since George W. Bush was in office. You have failed at six different multi-level marketing schemes, a candle-making hobby that burned down the garden shed, and an online boutique that sold exactly zero items. You don't run a business; you run a permanent vacation funded by my sweat."
Mom finally appeared in the doorway, wringing her hands in a dish towel, her face pale with horror. "Ian! How can you talk to your sister like that? After everything we've sacrificed for you?"
"Sacrificed?" I let out a bitter laugh that startled a flock of birds out of the oak tree. "What sacrifice, Mom? Did you sacrifice the trust fund Grandpa left me that you tried to raid? Did you sacrifice the college tuition I had to pay for myself while Tessa drove a brand-new BMW you forced me to co-sign for? You didn't sacrifice anything. You enabled a parasite until she grew teeth."
Melissa, professional to the core, was already snapping high-definition photographs of the exterior with a high-end digital camera, flashing bulbs illuminating the panic on my family's faces.
"Listing goes live at noon," Melissa announced clearly, checking her wristwatch. "Open house is scheduled for Wednesday at two PM. I’ll need the master bedroom and the basement cleared of personal clutter by tomorrow morning, or the staging company will throw it into a dumpster."
"You can't do this!" Dad shouted, his face turning a dangerous shade of crimson. He puffed out his chest, trying to assume the patriarchal authority he hadn't actually wielded in a decade. "I’m your father! You respect your parents! I demand you call this realtor off right now, or you are no longer welcome in this family!"
"Dad, let's be completely transparent here," I said, pulling out my phone and tapping the screen to display a digitized legal document. "Five years ago, you signed a quitclaim deed transferring the title of this property directly to my LLC when you defaulted on your second mortgage. You haven't paid a single property tax bill, insurance premium, or maintenance fee since 2021. You are tenants at will. And right now, your lease is terminated due to gross misconduct and assault."
Tessa gasped, looking at Mom. "Mom, tell him he's lying! Tell me he's lying!"
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Mom couldn't meet her eyes. Instead, she looked at me with a look of pure, unadulterated venom. "You are choosing a pregnant stranger over your own flesh and blood. That woman has bewitched you. She hates this family."
"Clare is my wife," I said, my voice dropping an octave, freezing the air around us. "She is carrying my child. And the moment your daughter threw a leather loafer at her head while you laughed and told her to sit on the floor, you signed your own eviction notice. Pack your bags."
