Ambers phone started buzzing against the counter upstairs, because the emails I sent ten minutes earlier had not gone to Amber. They had gone to my brother Chris, and to our aunt, and to the estate lawyer, and they all read my words before Amber could get her version there first.
For six years Amber got her version of me to Chris first, the freeloader in the basement who could not keep it together. This time they had mine first, and mine came with the documents I had never signed.
What Carol at the title company told me to keep copies of turned into the thing that changed everything, because the document with my name on it that I found showed Amber had forged my signature to take my half of our parents estate, cutting me out of the house Chris and Amber were living in, the house that was half mine.
The folder and the flash drive in my tote held it all. The forged transfer. The real will leaving the house to Chris and me equally. The listing where Amber sold my moms china. The voicemails. Dated, backed up, in a place Amber never knew existed.
Ten minutes before I picked up my bag, I sent it to Chris, to our aunt, and to the estate lawyer, with one line: this is my signature forged on the deed, and here is the real will, and I have the proof.
Chris came down another step and read it on his phone, and my brother, who told me for six years to give Amber some slack, went pale, because in real estate whoever has the paperwork wins, and I had the paperwork.
He said, Amber, whose signature is this. And Amber, who always got to Chris before I could open my mouth, finally had nothing to say to him.
I did not stay. I picked up my ruined flashcards, drove to a friends place, and studied from her online set until midnight. The next morning I took my real estate exam and passed, and I start with the brokerage in Cincinnati next month.
The forgery is with the estate lawyer and the police now. My half of our parents house is coming back to me, on paper, where Ambers charm does not work.
Chris called me a week later. He was not defending her. He was asking how he had not seen it, and whether it was too late to fix things with me. I told him the paperwork would sort the house, and the rest would take time. He said he understood. It is a start.
Because in real estate, whoever has the paperwork wins, Carol told me. I had the paperwork the whole time, and Amber stopped rolling her eyes before her phone even buzzed.