You’re right. I’ll do it. Consider it handled.”
I should have known right then.
Nothing good ever came from Emily being helpful, but she was my big sister and I wanted to believe in her. Two weeks later, the first thing I did when I arrived home was head to my parents’ place. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Emily… actually, it was exactly because I didn’t trust Emily.
I needed to check that my parents were okay. I pulled into our parents’ driveway and felt my heart stop. There was no car in the drive, no lights at the windows, and no response when I rang the doorbell.
The house was empty! My hands shook as I called Mom’s cell. When she answered, her voice was distant, confused.
“Oh, honey. We’re at Golden Acres now. Emily said it was best for us.
That we couldn’t manage on our own anymore. I thought you knew…”
The world tilted sideways. Golden Acres was that cut-rate nursing home on the edge of town, the one that made the news last year for health code violations.
The place where old people went to be forgotten. I hung up and climbed back into my car. 15 minutes later, I burst into Emily’s condo and found her lounging on her designer sofa, paperwork spread across her coffee table and sofa.
She didn’t even flinch. “You had no RIGHT!” I was shaking, vision blurred with rage. “They trusted you.
I trusted you.”
She just smirked. “Relax. They’re fine.
And besides, I have buyers lined up for the house. It’s time to move on.”
“That house is their home. They raised us there.”
“Please.” She waved her hand dismissively.
“You’re always so sentimental. As if we had some idyllic childhood.”
I stepped closer, ready for yet another argument with my bratty big sister. Then I noticed the paperwork on her coffee table wasn’t work documents, but house listing documents.
The price made me sick. She wasn’t just dumping our parents in some bargain-basement facility. She was trying to cash in on their home.
I wanted to scream. To grab her perfect hair and shake her until her teeth rattled. But Emily had always been untouchable that way.
Direct confrontation just made her dig in harder. I needed to outsmart her to win this battle. So I took a deep breath and forced my face to relax.
“You know what? You’re right. Maybe selling is the best move.”
Her eyebrows shot up, but I wasn’t done.
“In fact,” I continued, “I might know someone.”
“One of my clients is a private investor,” I continued. “He’s always looking for properties in good neighborhoods. He’s got deep pockets and hates dealing with banks.”
Emily’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights.
“Really? What kind of numbers are we talking?”
“Let me make a call. But Emily?
He moves fast. Like, cash-offer fast.”
“Even better.” She leaned forward, practically purring. “You know what they say — time kills deals.”
My “investor” was actually Robert, an acquaintance who worked as a real estate lawyer.
His eyebrows arched so high they almost touched his hairline when I first outlined my plan to him, but he eventually agreed. He played his part perfectly with his designer suit, luxury watch, and the kind of smooth talk that made Emily lean in closer. He dropped words like “portfolio expansion” and “market positioning” that had her nodding along like a bobblehead.
“I can have cash in your account within 48 hours of closing,” he told her, and I watched my sister practically salivate. “Just need to do the standard due diligence, of course.”
“Of course, of course.” Emily was already mentally spending the money. “I can have my team expedite everything.”
She wanted to throw a signing party.
Because, to Emily, every win was an opportunity to show off and stroke her ego. “All my friends will be there,” she gushed, planning every detail. The expensive wine, the catering, and even a photographer to capture her moment of triumph.
I just smiled and nodded. Emily’s friends were all social climbers, just like herself. It would be the perfect setting for Robert and me to expose her.
The night of the party, Emily was radiant in her red designer dress, working the room like a pro. Robert waited until her glass was full, and the guests were all gathered around to witness the signing. “Before we sign, I need to clarify something.” He pulled out a thick folder, and Emily’s smile widened, probably expecting more good news.
“I ran a legal check,” he continued, his voice carrying across the suddenly quiet room. “And this sale is completely invalid. The property was never legally transferred to you.
Your parents’ signatures were acquired under false pretenses — meaning this entire sale is fraud.”
Emily’s face went from pink to white in seconds. “T-That’s not true! The papers—”
Robert slid the documents across the table.
“These papers prove your parents still legally own the house. And since you had them admitted into a home under deception, this could be considered elder abuse and financial fraud. Both state and federal offenses, by the way.”
The whispers started.
Emily’s carefully cultivated crowd began to back away like she was contagious. “Wait — you LIED to your parents?” someone gasped. “You tried to STEAL their house?!” came another voice.
“I always thought something seemed off about her,” a third person muttered, just loud enough to carry. Emily’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. Her perfect mask cracked, revealing the panic underneath.
I could almost see her running calculations in her head, trying to figure out how to spin this. But some things can’t be spun. “Oh, and by the way?” Robert added, almost casually.
“The bank has been alerted. Your accounts are frozen. So, good luck seeing a dime from this sale.”
She collapsed into a chair, mascara starting to run.
One by one, her guests fled, leaving behind half-empty wine glasses and judgment thick enough to choke on. The photographer she’d hired kept snapping pictures. I didn’t stop him.
That night, I brought our parents home. Mom cried when she saw how her garden had wilted. Dad just stood in the kitchen for a long time, touching the counter like he couldn’t believe it was real.
When they learned what Emily had tried to do, they pressed charges. Her “friends” vanished overnight and she lost her job at the up-and-coming make-up brand she worked for. Apparently, fraud, manipulation, and dirty tricks didn’t align with their company values.
My phone rang a week later. Emily’s name showed on the screen. “Please,” she whispered.
“I need help. They’re going to press criminal charges. I could go to jail.”
I laughed.
“Time to move on, right?”
The click of me hanging up was the most satisfying sound I’d ever heard. Sometimes I drive past our parents’ house and see Mom in her garden, and Dad reading on the porch. The roses are blooming again.
The grass is green. Everything looks just like it should. Emily doesn’t call anymore.
But that’s okay. Some things, once broken, are better left that way. Last I heard, she was crashing on some cousin’s sofa in Ohio, trying to rebuild her life from scratch.
Source: amomama
