Chapter 2 - THE SUMMONS
I stared at the leather-bound ledger Daniel had left on the kitchen island. Its edges were frayed, the pages smelling faintly of Grandma Eleanor’s lavender hand cream.
The entry Daniel had mentioned was right there, dated exactly three months before she died. March 14th: Linda demands $180k against house equity. Refused. L threatens to cut contact.
Why $180,000? Vanessa’s wedding was lavish, but it wasn't a six-figure affair.
A sharp knock broke the silence of the empty house.
I flinched. The blue diamond on my finger caught the hallway light as I approached the heavy oak door. I checked the security camera. It was my mother. She wasn’t flanked by lawyers. She wasn’t screaming. She stood shivering in the autumn chill, holding a small, tarnished silver baby rattle.
It was mine. The one Grandma gave me when I was born.
I cracked the door open, keeping the chain engaged. "You have no right to be here, Mom."
"Lyra, please," she whispered. Her voice was stripped of its usual venom, replaced by a frantic tremor. Her makeup was smudged. "I brought this for you. I was cleaning out the attic. I thought you’d want it."
I looked at the rattle. It was a peace offering, a prop. "What do you want?"
"Vanessa is in trouble," Mom choked out, tears spilling over her mascara. "Real trouble. Ethan leaving her... it triggered a domino effect. If we don’t get $180,000 by Friday, she’s going to federal prison."
My breath hitched. "Prison? For what?"
"A business loan," Mom said quickly, her eyes darting to the shadows behind me. "She made a mistake on the application. They’re calling it wire fraud. Eleanor was going to help us, but she died before the transfer went through. You have the estate now. You have to save your sister."
I stared at the woman who, just days ago, had her hand clamped around my windpipe. She wasn't fighting for her pride. She was fighting for Vanessa’s survival.
"I'm not liquidating Grandma’s assets to pay for Vanessa’s crimes," I said, my voice hardening.
Mom’s fragile, pleading facade instantly vanished. Her posture straightened, and the frantic tremor was replaced by a cold, calculated smirk.
"I thought you'd say that," she said smoothly. She reached into her designer purse and pulled out a folded legal document, sliding it through the crack in the door. It hit the hardwood floor with a soft slap.
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"What is this?" I asked, my heart pounding.
"A federal court summons," Mom replied, turning on her heel. "You might want to read the name on the defendant line, Lyra. Because Vanessa didn't use her own identity to get that loan."
