Auditing My Brother’s Fake DreamChapter 2

The next morning, I woke to the sound of my life being ransacked.

Arthur was in the living room, tearing through my work bag. He’d dumped everything—lipstick, tampons, keys, my laptop charger—all over the hardwood floor. He was looking for my checkbook and my savings passbook.

I lunged forward, snatching my bag back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Arthur looked at me with total entitlement. "I’m getting what’s mine. I brought you into this world; your assets are my assets. I’ve already called the realtor. They’re coming to see the house this afternoon. I need that twenty thousand for the earnest money on the studio."

I clutched my bag to my chest, backing away. "That’s my down payment for my own apartment. You’re never touching it."

I hadn't noticed Aunt Beatrice was already there, perched on the sofa like a vulture, sipping coffee. "Natalie, darling, listen to your elders. A young woman like you doesn't need to buy a place. When you get married, your husband will provide. Giving this money to Tyler... that’s an investment in family."

I turned on her. "If it’s such a great investment, Beatrice, where’s your check? You could sell that retail space you lease out. That would fund ten of Tyler’s shows."

Beatrice’s face hardened. She set her cup down with a sharp clack. "That’s my retirement, you insolent girl. That’s completely different."

Arthur lost his patience. He lunged, grabbing my arm with a grip that felt like iron. "Give it to me! You’re going to support this family, or I’ll beat the defiance out of you!"

I struggled, the pain searing through my shoulder. "No! It’s my life!"

Arthur swung his hand. Crack.

The slap echoed through the house. My head snapped to the side, my ears ringing with a dull, high-pitched hum.

My mother ran out of the kitchen, throwing her arms around Arthur’s waist. "Arthur, stop! Please, let’s just talk!"

He shoved her aside. "Talk? She’s a cold-blooded animal! I should have never sent her to college. I educated a monster!" He pointed at Tyler, who was standing in the hallway watching. "Look at your brother! He works day and night for his art. And you? You only care about your bottom line. You were born to be a servant to numbers, Natalie. You have no soul."

I wiped a smear of blood from the corner of my mouth and looked at him with a clarity I’d never felt before. "Soul? You mean those pathetic doodles of his? The ones where he can't even get the lighting right? The ones that are just cheap imitations of real artists?"

Tyler stepped forward, holding a canvas. His eyes were red, the picture of a persecuted saint. "You can insult me, Natalie. But don't you dare insult my art. Dad, forget it. If she’s going to be like this, I’ll just stop painting. I’ll rot in the mud so she can keep her precious money."

His manipulative "martyr" act was the final straw for Arthur. He charged again, shoving me backward. My head hit the wall with a sickening thud.

"Get out!" Arthur screamed, pointing at the door. "You’re no daughter of mine. I won't have a greedy parasite in this house!"

Beatrice sneered from the couch. "Good riddance. A snake in the grass is what she is."

I steadied myself against the wall, my vision swimming. "Fine. I’m going. But remember this, Arthur: if you try to sell this house, I will fight you until there’s nothing left but ash."

I went to my room, packed a bag in ten minutes, and walked out. As I crossed the threshold, I saw Arthur stroking Tyler’s hair. "Don't listen to her, son. I’ll get you that show. The deed is in the safe. Nobody can stop us."

I stepped out into the cold morning air, the slap on my face burning like fire. I didn't cry. I took out my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart.

"Hi, this is Natalie. I need to file an emergency Lis Pendens and a notice of title dispute on a residential property."