Chapter 4 - KYLE'S STUDIO THAT DIDN'T EXIST
Kyle had not put a lien on my condo.
He couldn’t.
But he had represented my address as the principal location of his new business.
That was enough to create another mess I did not need.
His financing company believed he was moving into the property under a long-term family lease.
The same fake lease.
Simone handled it.
I did not call Kyle.
I did not call Megan.
I kept packing.
Every evening after work, another room became emptier.
Books disappeared into storage boxes.
My framed photographs came down.
The dining table sold to a young couple from Aurora.
By January 15, the condo that had taken me six years to pay down looked almost anonymous.
Meanwhile, Megan kept posting.
She ordered new curtains.
A sectional sofa.
Custom decals for the children’s room.
Mom commented beneath every photo.
You deserve this, sweetheart.
That sentence bothered me more than it should have.
Not because Megan didn’t deserve a good home.
Everyone deserves stability.
But Mom had confused deserving stability with deserving mine.
The investor completed inspection early.
No major issues.
Closing moved up two days.
Then I got another surprise.
Megan called.
Her tone was sugary.
“We need your garage remote.”
I nearly laughed.
“Why?”
“The movers need building access on the first.”
“You’re not moving in.”
Long silence.
Then:
“Claire, stop.”
“I’m serious.”
“Mom said you were being emotional because you found out before they could explain everything.”
“There’s nothing to explain.”
“Kyle and I already spent money.”
“That was your decision.”
“You asked what color I wanted the nursery.”
“Yes.”
“So you agreed.”
“No.”
“That’s insane.”
“No, Megan. Assuming someone gave you a $350,000 home because she asked about paint is insane.”
She started crying.
For years, Megan’s tears had worked like a family fire alarm.
Everyone ran.
I stayed seated.
Then she said something strange.
“This isn’t even supposed to be all yours.”
My posture changed.
“What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Grandma’s money.”
I stopped breathing.
“What about Grandma’s money?”
Megan laughed bitterly.
“Of course you’re pretending.”
Then she hung up.
That evening, I pulled out the probate documents from my grandmother’s estate.
She had left me $40,000.
I always assumed Megan received the same amount.
May you like
Apparently—
she hadn’t.
