“Exercised my rights as a property owner,” I said. “You have thirty days to vacate. Standard procedure.”
Brandon’s reaction was immediate and predictable.
“This is bull****!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “You can’t do this! Where am I supposed to game?”
“Maybe at a job,” I suggested.
He stormed upstairs. Ten minutes later, something heavy crashed down the stairs.
His gaming chair.
He’d thrown it in a fit of rage. It broke. Plastic cracked.
I didn’t bother to hide my smile.
Sierra burst into tears.
She went Live on Instagram.
Someone sent me the video later. Mascara running, voice wobbling, she said, “My evil stepsister is illegally evicting us from our home. Like, we have nowhere to go. This is actual abuse.”
The comments were… not as sympathetic as she’d hoped.
“Pretty sure it’s not abuse if she owns the house,” one person wrote.
“Didn’t your mom brag about not paying rent for ten years?” another asked.
The best one? “This you?” with a link to one of Tracy’s old Facebook posts.
Because while I’d been quietly gathering evidence, someone else had been doing the Lord’s work on social media.
My mom’s best friend, Elise.