Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
“She took my lease out of my cabinet,” I said, my silver watch dial cold against my skin as I rolled it back and forth. “She is making me pay for Vanessa’s life. Why won’t you say anything to her?”
“I cannot get involved,” Arthur said, his voice dropping even lower.
My father turning back toward his garage, the heavy wooden door sliding down to block my view of his face.
The red plastic spatula was still wet in the sink when Vanessa marched into the kitchen at half past seven on Wednesday morning. She did not have her shoes on, but her designer sunglasses were already perched on top of her head.
“Where is my utility statement?” Vanessa asked, her voice rising into that theatrical pitch she used when she wanted to sound like an injured party.
“I have not seen any of your mail,” I said, keeping my hands flat on the counter.
“It was delivered yesterday,” she said, sliding the sunglasses down over her eyes and immediately pushing them back up into her hair. “The carrier came at two. I saw the truck from the window.”
