Then he opened my document room and found the cabinet Bianca had forced with a brass fireplace poker she apparently took from the den. Two student files were on the floor. One scholarship ledger binder had been opened upside down. Nothing appeared stolen, but disturbed access alone was enough.
“Call counsel,” Gerald said to me.
I already had.
My attorney, Naomi Pierce, was on her way up when Bianca finally understood this was not one more family scene she could bully her way through.
She looked at my mother and said, “Do something.”
But my mother, for once, had no script.
Because she was staring at the very logs that proved she gave the keycard, entered first, and stood there while Bianca ripped through cabinets she had no right even to see.
That was when the panic started.
My mother’s voice thinned. “We came because she never answers the family.”
Gerald looked at her with exhausted disbelief.
“That is not a legal defense,” he said.
When Naomi arrived, she took one look at the room and whispered to me, “Please tell me they touched nothing digital.”
I looked at Bianca, then at the keyboard.
Her silence answered for her.
Naomi closed her eyes briefly.
“Then they’re in deeper than they know.”
Because what Bianca had searched for in her jealous little rampage was not jewelry, cash, or proof that I was hiding some glamorous secret.
She had typed names into the system.
Including her oldest son’s.
And he wasn’t supposed to be in my records at all.
That was when I understood why Gerald had gone from angry to alarmed.
And why prison was no longer just a threat shouted in a ruined living room.
At my penthouse, my mother handed my sister my keys. My sister trashed my home, shouting, “You’re barren and worthless!” I didn’t scream. I simply waved the school inspector inside. He checked the logs and shouted: “Lock the doors… Going to prison!”
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