I refused when my stepmother ordered me to change my brother’s baby.

"What... what is the meaning of this?!" Marlene shrieked, scrambling up from her chair, her designer silk blouse rustling violently as she pointed a trembling, manicured finger at Arthur Vance. "Who let you in here?! This is a private residence! I will have you all arrested for trespassing!"

Arthur didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his voice. He reached into his leather briefcase, pulled out a thick, blue-backed legal document stamped with the crimson seal of the Superior Court of the State, and tossed it onto the bridge table, right over their cards.

"Good evening, Marlene," Arthur said smoothly, his gravelly baritone echoing off the high ceiling. "You are not looking at a trespasser. You are looking at the court-appointed receiver for the Vance Estate Trust."

The three bridge club members gasped, grabbing their handbags and scrambling backward as if Arthur were carrying a contagion.

"That's... that's impossible!" Marlene choked out, her voice rising into an hysterical screech. "Richard’s will left everything to Jason! We are the sole owners of this property! We have the deeds!"

"You had a conditional occupancy lease, Marlene," I said, stepping forward out of the shadows of the hallway into the warm light of the chandelier.

Marlene snapped her head toward me, her eyes bulging with unadulterated venom. "You! You little bitch, how dare you come back here—"

"Quiet, Marlene," Arthur commanded sharply, his tone carrying the razor-sharp authority of a man who had put half the state’s corrupt executives behind bars. "Every deed, every bank account, and every corporate asset associated with Maple Ridge Lane was placed into an irrevocable blind trust on the day Clara turned ten years old. Under Article Nine of that trust, any attempt by the secondary occupants to falsify financial records, embezzle estate funds, or physically intimidate the primary beneficiary results in an immediate, automatic forfeiture of all residential rights."

Marlene staggered backward, her hip striking the edge of the mahogany table, sending the remaining wine glasses tumbling to the floor. "No... no, Richard wouldn't... he loved Jason! He loved us!"

"Richard loved his money, Marlene," I said quietly, walking right up to the edge of the rug where her wine was still staining the wool. "And he loved his bloodline even more. He knew you were draining the accounts behind his back. He knew you were treating me like a servant while living off his dividends. That’s why he structured this house so that the moment the clock struck midnight on my twenty-fifth birthday—which was precisely thirty seconds ago—the lock would click, and you would officially become squatters."

From the top of the grand staircase, a loud, groggy yawn echoed down into the foyer.

Jason appeared on the landing, wearing silk pajama pants, rubbing his eyes and squinting against the bright lights. "Marlene, what’s all the screaming about? Can't a guy sleep in his own—"

He stopped dead in his tracks.

He saw the deputies. He saw Arthur Vance. And then he saw me, standing at the bottom of the stairs with my hands tucked into my coat pockets, looking up at him with absolute, unyielding indifference.