There were draft statements describing an alleged family agreement.
Copies of old access information.
Unsent letters addressed to Paige at my home.
And notes concerning how to establish the appearance that she lived there.
One folder was labeled:
MARISSA — LEVERAGE.
Inside were records of money I’d previously given my family.
My father had annotated them as evidence of continuing financial obligations.
I stared at those notes in disbelief.
I’d sent money because I wanted to help.
He’d apparently been trying to turn that generosity into an argument that my property belonged to everyone.
When the documents were displayed, Paige turned toward our parents.
“You told me Marissa had agreed.”
Mom looked irritated.
“She would have agreed eventually.”
I nearly laughed.
That sentence explained my childhood.
In our family, saying no had never been enough.
A refusal was treated as an invitation to keep pushing.
Then Paige admitted something unexpected.
