At 2:15, I was home reading the paper.

At 3:30, my phone buzzed nonstop.

At 4:15, I turned it off.

By evening, they were pounding on my door.

Cody Jenkins stormed in, furious.

“You abandoned us!”

“Get out of my house,” I said calmly.

Threats followed. Promises of consequences.

I closed the door.

Three days later, the newspaper ran a story painting me as a villain.

They had gone public.

Big mistake.

Christmas Eve, I arrived at their dinner with proof.

Bank records.
Receipts.
Five years of truth.

Twelve guests. Twelve packets.

The room turned on them.

I left while their social empire collapsed behind me.

By March, the foreclosure notice arrived.

Michael showed up weeks later, broken.

“I’m sorry,” he said.