Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
“Your belongings?” she gasped, her voice shaking with dramatic outrage. “The television? The dining table? You stripped the place. You cannot just steal a whole apartment.”
“I did not steal anything,” I said, my voice flat and measured. “I moved my furniture to my new home. I paid for every item in this room.”
Before she could answer, the heavy outer door downstairs swung open again.
My mother’s rapid, sharp footsteps sounded on the wood. Helen climbed the stairs three at a time, her breath coming in quick, shallow puffs. She was holding her phone in her right hand, her gold wedding ring tapping a steady, rhythmic click against the screen.
“What is going on up here?” Helen asked, stopping on the threshold.
She looked past Vanessa into the empty living room. Her eyes widened, her sharp gaze sweeping over the naked copper wires hanging from the ceiling where my dining room chandelier had been. She walked past us without a word, her boots clicking loudly on the bare floor, and headed straight into the kitchen.
