Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
“I am already on my way there,” I said, closing the manila folder. “I have a few more documents to show Dad.”
I walked past them, my shoulder brushing against Vanessa’s arm as I cleared the doorway. Downstairs, the cool evening air smelled of damp pine and wet asphalt. I got into my car and set the folder on the passenger seat next to my purse.
The drive to my parents’ house in the hills took twenty minutes. The brick house looked exactly the same as it always did, the porch light casting a yellow glow over the manicured boxwood hedges.
I parked in the driveway and waited.
Within five minutes, my mother’s silver sedan pulled in behind me. Vanessa got out of the passenger side, her shopping bags left behind, her head down as she hurried toward the front door. Helen followed her, her phone already tucked into her pocket.
I met them at the front steps.
Arthur opened the door before we could ring the bell. He looked tired, his gray hair slightly messy, his thumb rubbing over his leather key fob in a continuous circle.
