Chapter 7 - The Sister's Stand
By Monday evening, the structural integrity of Nancy’s empire was crumbling from the inside.
Gil hadn't returned home after leaving my house on Sunday. According to Krista, he had driven straight to his brother's cabin in Grand Lake to "think about his marriage." For the first time in seven years, Nancy was sitting in her four-bedroom house completely alone.
At 7:00 PM, my doorbell rang again.
I walked to the door cautiously, checking the side glass.
It was Krista and her husband, Pete.
Pete was a tall, broad-shouldered man with tired eyes, wearing a dark work jacket. He looked nervous, holding a thick manila folder in his hands, while Krista stood beside him holding a box of hot takeout food.
I opened the door. "Krista? Pete?"
"Hey, Jos," Pete said, offering a small, deeply apologetic nod. "Can we talk for ten minutes? We brought dinner."
I looked at Pete's face—at the genuine shame and worry written in the lines around his eyes—and stepped aside. "Come in."
They walked into the kitchen. Pete set the manila folder on the counter while Krista set the food down. Clara was asleep in her swing in the living room, her tiny breathing soft and steady.
"Jocelyn," Pete began, standing straight with his hands in his pockets. "I want to apologize to you face-to-face. What happened two weeks ago... when we showed up with the kids... I had no idea your mom was trying to force you out. If I had known, I would have locked myself in our apartment before letting her load that truck."
"I know, Pete," I said gently, sitting at the island. "Krista told me. I don't blame you."
"Pete's been working eighteen-hour shifts doing freight deliveries," Krista said, leaning against her husband's arm. "And... we found something yesterday while we were packing up our Arvada apartment."
Pete pulled the manila folder toward him and opened it. Inside were dozens of pages of printed emails, bank statements, and legal correspondence.
"What's all this?" I asked.
"When my logistics company shut down four months ago," Pete explained, "I applied for an emergency small-business assistance grant through the state to start my own local courier company. The state approved a twelve-thousand-dollar start-up grant for my business in July."
I narrowed my eyes. "July? But you told me you were completely out of money."
"Because we never got the money," Pete said, his voice tightening with suppressed rage. "The grant approval notification was mailed to your mother's home address because we were staying there temporarily during the job transition. Nancy intercepted the check."
I gasped. "She stole your business grant?"
"She didn't just steal it," Krista said, her eyes flashing with tears of anger. "She deposited the state grant into her LLC account—the same Thornton Cultural Foundation account she used to steal your savings! She told us the state had denied Pete's application! She intentionally hid twelve thousand dollars of Pete's money so we would remain broke, lose our apartment, and be forced to move into your house under her terms!"
I sat back in my chair, completely stunned.
It was a master plan of staggering cruelty. Nancy hadn't just taken advantage of Krista and Pete's financial crisis—she had manufactured it. She had deliberately starved her own daughter's family financially so they would have no choice but to act as her foot soldiers in hijacking my home.
"Do you have proof?" I asked, looking at the documents.
"Everything is right here," Pete said, tapping the papers. "The state grant verification with her signature on the mobile deposit line. I called the state treasurer's office this morning. They confirmed the funds were released to her address and deposited into her corporate account three months ago."
"Pete wanted to go straight to the police," Krista said, looking at me. "But I told him we needed to show you first. Because... she’s planning something for tomorrow."
"What is she planning?" I asked.
"Tomorrow at 2:00 PM is the Lakewood HOA Annual Neighborhood Board Meeting," Krista said. "Your mother has been attending those meetings as an 'interested community relative' for the past month. She’s on the agenda to present a formal complaint against your property."
"A complaint?" I asked, frowning. "For what?"
"She filed a petition with the HOA board claiming you are running an illegal, unlicensed pediatric therapy business out of your residential garage, creating parking hazards and safety violations," Krista revealed. "She’s trying to get the HOA to issue daily fines and place a legal lien on your house."
I looked at the documents on the counter, then at Pete, and finally at my sister.
A slow, deliberate smile began to form on my lips.
"She wants to talk to the HOA board?" I asked softly.
May you like
"She’s already printed thirty copies of her complaint," Krista said.
"Good," I said, leaning forward. "Then Pete, you and I are going to that meeting tomorrow. And we’re going to give the neighborhood board something much more interesting to read."