My half-sister received everything, but I was treated like Cinderella by my parents, who gave me nothing. I discovered one day that they had taken my inheritance. This revelation set off my retaliation scheme. I would make sure they felt guilty about mistreating me.
It was a depressing morning once more. I awoke late in my pantry-sized, makeshift bedroom. I emerged to find the living room in ruins. My half-sister Alice had hosted a noisy party last night that kept me up. There were decorations, plates, and cups everywhere.
Embarrassed and envious of Alice, I set about cleaning. She was always the center of attention, parties, and presents. I got nothing on my sixteenth birthday. That has always been the case. Now that I’m eighteen, I’ve become accustomed to our parents’ lack of affection and concern.
I could hear Alice’s voice as I scrubbed. “Did you just wake up?” she inquired, her tone irritated.
I said, attempting not to lose my cool, “Yeah, the music kept me up.”
Do you mean to blame me? You know what will happen when our parents get back from their cruise and witness this mess!” Alice lost her temper.
Surprisingly, I said boldly, “Go to hell,” That was not how I had ever responded to her before.
Alice tried to slap me, her cheeks flushing, but I pushed her away.
“We’re done, Alice,” I firmly declared. “I’m heading out. I don’t have to stay here and put up with this abuse; I’m eighteen.”
Alice appeared stunned. “Sarah, you’re going to regret this,” she said.
Disregarding her, I headed to stuff my meager wardrobe into a suitcase. There were so few things in my life that they could all fit into one tiny bag.
However, I still required my paperwork from my parents’ room. I rarely went into that tidy room. I discovered a mystery in their closet: my grandma Amanda’s will. It stated that she had bequeathed me $2 million. However, my mother was meant to handle it until I became eighteen.
I discovered my family had been utilizing my money after reading the document. My heart fell.
Then I discovered a genuine copy of my grandmother’s will along with a note from her concealed in an envelope. The money was entirely mine, it stated. Simon and my mother had abused my fortune by lying.
I was enraged. I made up my mind that they will pay. I was going to get what was rightfully mine by going to the police. It was time for them to take responsibility for their acts and stop being disregarded.
Alice suddenly snatched the envelope out of my hands. She locked herself in the bathroom after that. I observed her rip the letter to pieces and flush it down the toilet through the opening in the door.
“What have you done?” I let out a cry.
As she walked out, Alice snarled, “You can leave our house now.”
I was devastated. Even if my evidence was gone, I persisted. I made the decision to look for a qualified attorney.
I gave the lawyer a thorough explanation at the law office. “Without the original will, it’s tough to prove your claim,” he grimly said.
I went to my friend Mike’s cafe because I was feeling quite dismal. I filled him in on everything.
Mike said, “You should talk to your parents.” “Demand what’s yours.”
With a sense of empowerment, I went back to my parents’ place.
“I have knowledge about the will,” I said. “I know you changed it.”
Simon, my stepfather, smiled and said, “Prove it.” “You have nothing that can prove the truth.”
Regretfully, he was correct.
My mother then yelled, “Get out of my house!” “Never again reveal your face to us. You made the decision to flee.”
“I swear as I walk out, I will get back what’s mine.” This could not go unpunished.
When I got to the cafe, Mike was cleaning the counter. He saw my look of distress. I told him everything about my home confrontation while I sat in my customary spot. My mother revealed her true self following the death of my dad. They lived off of my fortune after she wed my stepfather.
Mike growled, “I can’t believe they did that.”
I muttered, “I want everything back.” “And I want them to suffer like they did to me.”
Mike was taken aback. “What’s your plan?”
“We’ll set up an underground poker club to trap my stepfather,” I said. “We’ll cheat by using covert cameras. I’ll use an earphone to guide you.
Mike responded, “It’s risky, but you seem sure.”
I said, “I have nothing to lose,” and he agreed to assist.
“How will we get Simon to come?” Mike enquired.
I explained, “On my way here, I came up with the plan,” which involved Mike luring Simon in with stories of a rich poker club and phony money.
Mike hesitated for a while before agreeing. “Let’s go all in,” he declared, pledging to carry out the strategy.
I obtained the money to start the club after making a $2,500 pawn sale of my late father’s pendant. Later, Mike called, sounding enthusiastic.
“Simon accepted the offer. He will arrive tomorrow,” he declared. “I’ve also been successful in getting some actors.” We’ll have to pay them, though.
I said, feeling both relieved and uneasy. “Great,” “Don’t worry; we’ll get them their share.”
I became aware of the scope of our strategy as soon as I hung up the phone. Justice was now at stake, not simply cash or retaliation. I was prepared.
We set up our trap in the basement of the coffee shop where Mike worked. We converted the dimly lit space into a covert poker club, complete with the scent of old coffee. To record the card games, we set up a poker table with covert cameras.
Tension buzzed through the basement the following night. I was watching from a small room full of monitors, each one displaying the poker table from a different perspective.
My stepfather, Simon, showed up with a suitcase full of cash in tow. I spoke into the mic, “Mike, scratch your ear if you can hear me.” When he did, he gave the all-clear.
The match got underway. Using the earpiece, I gave the actors instructions, giving Simon the advantage at initially to hook him.
Simon seemed to have more and more luck as the game went on. He said, “Today’s my day,” not realizing that the game was fixed.
His luck soon changed, though. I directed the actors to embezzle Simon’s money by manipulating the game from behind the scenes. He began rashly wagering on his watch and subsequently his vehicle.
I felt a mixture of power and justice seeing him lose. Simon had nothing left at the end.
Then he walked out of the poker game, saying he needed more money. “He’s going to lose everything,” I murmured into the earpiece.
Simon returned shortly after with a second $500,000 in a luggage. As the game went on, Simon’s money kept running out. At last, he had nothing left and was sobbing over his losses. He may have been brutal in the past, but seeing him so shattered unnerved me.
I went to my old residence the following day to grab the one and only picture I had of my late father. My mother and Alice were crying inside because Simon had lost everything in the game and had had a heart attack, putting him in a coma with a brain tumor. They had no money, yet they needed it for his treatment.
I felt compelled to lend a hand, so I covertly put $200,000—the amount my mother claimed Simon required—under a floorboard in the pantry.
I had brought a bag containing all of the cash with me. After I got my picture taken with Dad, I was going to head out of town.
I made a hint to my mother in the living room about money stashed in the pantry. I reported to them that I had observed Simon conceal money in the pantry. She was relieved to find it.
As I left the house, I was confident that I had chosen compassion over retaliation in my decision to assist them. The past should no longer cast a shadow over me; it was time to write a fresh chapter.