Chapter 7 - The Masterstroke
My father frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"What do you mean, you're giving it to them? They're gone, Claire. You need to focus on the living."
"I am," I smiled. It was a terrifying smile.
"I knew you would come," I told them.
"The moment the settlement was finalized, I knew the smell of money would drag you out of whatever hole you’ve been living in. So, I made some arrangements."
I reached over to the console table beside the door and grabbed a thick manila envelope.
I slipped it through the crack in the door.
My father took it, ripping it open.
"What is this?" he demanded.
"Those are copies of the irrevocable trust documents," I explained calmly.
"Every single penny of the $18.7 million, minus my basic living expenses, has already been legally transferred into the Ethan, Lily, and Noah Foundation."
My father's face turned completely white.
"You... you gave it away?" he stammered, horrified.
"All of it," I nodded.
"The foundation is controlled by a board of directors. Aunt Ruth is the president. Ethan's parents are the vice presidents. I am just a consultant."
My mother gasped, dropping the cheap flowers on the porch.
"You gave control of millions of dollars to Ruth?! She's insane! She's not even real family!"
"She was the only family at the cemetery," I shot back, my voice turning into a roar.
"And there's one more thing in that envelope," I continued.
Melissa snatched the papers from her father, her eyes scanning the bottom pages.
"It's a cease and desist," she whispered, looking up at me in shock.
"Exactly," I said.
"If any of you ever text me, call me, email me, or show up on my property again, my lawyers—who are very highly paid by the foundation, by the way—will file a restraining order and sue you for harassment."
"You can't do this to us!" my father yelled, slamming his hand against the door. "We are your blood!"
"Blood means nothing when the heart stops beating," I replied.
"And as far as I'm concerned, my family died on Interstate 95. You three are just strangers trespassing on my porch."
I looked at Melissa, who was now openly crying, realizing her dream wedding was gone.
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"Happy late birthday, Melissa," I said.
Then, I unhooked the chain, slammed the heavy door shut in their faces, and locked the deadbolt.
