I pictured Victoria’s face when a uniformed officer calmly informed her she’d banned the wrong person from the property. A tiny flare of satisfaction warmed my chest.
One more thing,” Margaret added. “I’ve documented all of Victoria’s attempts to access the trust over the years. The judge will be very interested if this ever goes to court.”
A memory surfaced: Victoria hovering near Mom’s desk after the funeral, her fingers brushing the locked drawer with my mother’s files. Or the time she’d asked an oddly casual question over dinner: “So, Alexandra, what ever happened with that old beach property paperwork? Your mother always hated dealing with that stuff.” I’d shrugged and said something noncommittal, watching her eyes narrow thoughtfully.
It hadn’t been paranoia. Mom had seen it. Margaret had seen it. I just hadn’t wanted to see it as clearly.
We wrapped up the call, and I walked to my living room window. Outside, the sky had shifted from fiery orange to deep purple, city lights sparkling like a second constellation below. Somewhere out there, people were going about their lives, unaware that in one small apartment, a battle line had been quietly drawn over a house by the sea.