“Funny,” I said, and my voice came out calm. Too calm. “You bought your dream house with my nightmare.”
The air in the room changed. Thickened. Like someone had closed a door and turned up the heat.
Cass opened the folder. Her eyes skimmed the first page. Her face drained so fast it was almost impressive.
Her fork clattered against the plate.
Silence.
“You wouldn’t,” she whispered.
I leaned back in my chair. My hands were steady now. “You already did,” I said. “I’m just returning the favor.”
Cass’s head snapped up. “What does that mean?”
“It means I filed a police report,” I replied. “It means I pressed charges.”
My mother made a small sound, like she’d been punched. “Elena—”
Cass shot up so fast her chair screeched against the floor. Her eyes were wide, her voice shaking, but there was anger under it. Fury that I wasn’t playing my role.
“You’re going to ruin my life,” she hissed.
I didn’t blink. “No,” I said. “You did that the moment you signed my name and put a mansion on my credit score.”
My mother reached for the papers like she could smooth them out, like this was spilled wine instead of first-degree identity theft.
“Let’s talk about this privately,” she whispered, eyes pleading.