“That would be Mr. Vance,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as the still morning water of Lake Norman. “He’s a real estate attorney. The kind that doesn’t mess around.”
“An attorney?” Dad sputtered, the bravado completely draining from his voice. “Arden, what is wrong with you? We have twenty people out here! Aunt Liora is crying in the driveway because the keypad is disabled and there are metal security shutters on the windows!”
“The keypad is disabled because I had the locks replaced yesterday afternoon. The shutters are compliments of the security team,” I explained, taking a slow sip of my coffee. “As for Mr. Vance, he is there to hand you all formal Cease and Desist orders for criminal trespassing. He also has itemized bills for everyone present.”
“Bills?! Are you insane? We are your family!”
“You’re squatters,” I corrected firmly. “My Wi-Fi logs and utility bills from Memorial Day prove you’ve been unlawfully entering my property. Mom copied a spare key from my purse during her last ‘visit’ to my apartment. That’s breaking and entering. Mr. Vance has the newly installed security footage from yesterday, but he also has the neighborhood gate logs from Memorial Day, complete with timestamps of Hollis throwing up off my private dock and Keaton breaking my patio heater.”
I could hear frantic murmurs in the background. My mother’s voice pierced through the chaos. “Give me that phone!” she screeched. “Arden Voss, you tell this man in the suit to step aside right now! We drove three hours! We have three coolers full of expensive steaks!”
“Then I suggest you take them to a public park, Mom,” I replied. “Because if any of you step past the property line, Mr. Vance is instructed to signal the two local sheriff’s deputies parked at the end of the cul-de-sac. They have my written authorization to arrest anyone who steps on the grass.”
Dead silence fell over the line. Even the background noise of my twenty entitled relatives completely ceased.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Mom whispered, though the tremor in her voice proved she knew I would. “You’re bluffing.”
“Look to your left, Mom. Down by the mailbox.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath. The deputies weren’t a bluff. That was the other half of Mr. Vance’s hefty retainer fee—arranging a civil standby to ensure my property was protected from a ‘hostile and documented threat.’
“Arden, please,” Dad’s voice was suddenly weak, pleading. “Hollis drove all the way from Georgia. Keaton promised his new girlfriend a luxury lake weekend. You’re humiliating us in front of everyone.”
“No, Dad,” I said softly, the weight of a lifetime of being their doormat finally lifting off my shoulders. “You humiliated yourselves. You thought I was a free resort. You thought you could mock my life, my job, and my car, while secretly living it up on my dime when I was literally saving lives on a twelve-hour shift. That stops today.”
“But—”
“Mr. Vance is handing you an invoice for the utilities you stole in May, plus the cost of the lock replacements and the deep cleaning fee. You have thirty days to pay it. If you don’t, he files a lawsuit. Have a great weekend.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I hung up the phone.
A moment later, I opened the family group chat. I watched as the typing bubbles appeared and disappeared frantically, paragraphs of outrage being drafted.
With one tap, I left the group.
Then, I went into my settings. I blocked my parents, blocked Keaton, blocked Hollis, and blocked Aunt Liora.
The silence in my apartment was beautiful. It was almost as peaceful as the lake. I set my phone down, pulled the covers back over my shoulders, and for the first time in my life, I slept like a stone.
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