Late enough that everyone would be seated for dinner.
Early enough that they’d still be on the main course.
No easy escape for anyone.
The front door was unlocked.
Of course it was.
Isabella loved to show off how safe their neighborhood was, how they didn’t need to worry about security—unlike people in rougher areas.
I let myself in quietly, the warm air hitting my face along with the sounds of laughter and conversation from the dining room.
“And then Catherine said, ‘But darling, that’s not how we do things in our family,’” someone was saying, followed by more laughter.
Our family.
After everything they’d done to exclude me from it.
I walked into the dining room carrying my briefcase, twelve faces turning toward me with expressions ranging from surprise to horror.
Isabella froze with her wine glass halfway to her lips.
Michael’s face went pale.
Cody and Catherine looked like they’d seen a ghost.
“Good evening, everyone,” I said calmly, setting my briefcase on their marble sideboard. “I hope you don’t mind me joining your Christmas celebration.”
Isabella found her voice first.
“Dennis, this is completely inappropriate. You need to leave immediately.”
“Actually,” I said, opening my briefcase and pulling out the first stack of papers, “I think your guests deserve to know who really paid for this dinner, this house, and this lifestyle you’ve been showing off.”
A woman I didn’t recognize—probably one of Catherine’s charity friends—leaned forward with curiosity.
“What is he talking about, Isabella?”
“He’s having some kind of episode,” Isabella said quickly. “Michael, call someone.”
But I was already moving around the table, placing a packet of documents in front of each guest.
“Here are the bank records,” I said conversationally. “Five years of financial support. $168,000 in mortgage payments alone, plus the down payment, renovations, furniture, appliances—everything you see around you.”
The room went silent except for the rustling of papers as twelve people began examining the evidence.
I watched their faces change as they absorbed the numbers, the dates, the undeniable proof of my generosity and their deception.
“This is…” one man started, then stopped, staring at a bank statement.
“Outrageous,” finished the woman across from him. “Isabella, why didn’t you tell us any of this?”
Isabella’s perfect composure was cracking.
“It’s more complicated than it looks. Dennis volunteered to help us. We never asked.”
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