I reached into the folder, extracted the laminated chore chart, and slammed it down in front of Sandra. “In your day, Sandra, did houseguests assign the homeowner Tuesday bathroom duty?”
Sandra’s mouth snapped shut.
Derek suddenly exploded upward, flipping his plate, roaring like a wounded animal. “You were never here, Iris!” He slammed both fists onto the table, rattling the crystal, attempting to physically intimidate me.
I didn’t flinch. I waited for the vibrations in the wine glasses to cease entirely.
“I am here now,” I whispered softly.
He stood there, breathing heavily, staring at a table he didn’t own, in a dining room he didn’t own, realizing his entire audience had turned against him.
I pulled out the final weapon: the printed bank statements, the branch manager’s stamp gleaming in the candlelight.
“Social Security drops on the second of the month,” I narrated, tapping the highlighted lines. “Six hundred dollars in raw cash is extorted on the third. Fourteen consecutive months. Plus, $3,900 charged to a department store credit card using a forged signature. Total theft: $12,300 extracted from a sixty-six-year-old widow. The state of Ohio considers that elder financial abuse. It is a felony.”
