For a moment, there was silence. Then, the heavy curtains in the living room twitched. I saw Mariela’s face peek out, her eyes widening in sheer panic before she disappeared back inside.
A moment later, the lock clicked. The door swung open.
My mother stood there, still wearing an expensive silk blouse, her hair perfectly coiffed. Mariela stood just behind her, holding a coffee mug, her face pale but her expression already twisting into an arrogant scowl.
“What is the meaning of this?” my mother demanded, completely ignoring me and looking directly at Officer Miller. “Why are the police at my house? Elena, what drama have you concocted now? Did you call the police because your feelings were hurt?”
“Ma’am, are you Evelyn Moreno?” Officer Miller asked, his notebook out.
“Yes, I am. And this is my home. My late husband bought this house before—”
“Actually, ma’am, it isn’t,” Officer Miller interrupted smoothly, holding up the legal documents. “According to the Brooklyn Land Registry and the David Moreno Irrevocable Trust, this property belongs solely to Elena Moreno and Ana Moreno. You have no legal ownership, no lease, and no right of occupancy.”
Mariela stepped forward, her voice shrill. “That’s a lie! Our father would never do that! He left everything to our mother! Elena is fabricating documents! She’s a nurse, she probably manipulated him on his deathbed!”
“Watch your mouth, Mariela,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I didn’t manipulate anyone. Dad saw exactly how you both treated him when he was dying. He knew you’d throw us to the wolves the second he was gone.”
My mother’s face underwent a terrifying transformation. The elegant, detached matriarch mask slipped, revealing a venomous, calculating rage. She glared at me, her eyes splitting into slits.
