Emily stepped slowly onto the perfectly trimmed lawn, as if stepping onto a stage. Every movement was precise, coldly calculated. She knew: this was no simple return. This was her revenge.
Uncle Edwards gaze burned into her. He gripped his cane so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes held everythingrage, contempt, and that old, predatory glint that had crushed everyone beneath him for decades.
*”Buy it?”* he sneered. *”Girl, these houses belong to my family. My bloodline. As long as I live, they stay here.”*
Emily took a step closer.
*”Precisely why Im here,”* she said softly. *”Because you wont live much longer.”*
The mans lips twitched. He tried to laugh, but a cough wracked him instead. The years, the drink, the weight of power had taken their toll.
Behind the neighbouring fences, faces appeared. Everyone watched, no one dared intervene, but curiosity burned stronger than fear.
*”Youve gone mad, Em,”* the old man growled. *”No ones selling to you.”*
Emily pulled a folder from her bag.
*”Contracts,”* she said. *”Ive already bought half the street. Aunt Beatrice had debts; her son was drowning in loans. Uncle Williams business went under. They all came to me.”*
Edwards eyes flashed.
*”Lies!”*
She flipped the folder open, revealing the copies.
*”This is just the beginning. But you, Uncle Edward, have secrets worth far more than these bricks.”*
The old man swayed.
*”What secrets?”*
Emilys smile was ice.
*”You think I know nothing. But I know how you became a ‘widower’ so conveniently. I know my mother vanished one morning, and you said it was a heart attack. No autopsy. No questions. You paid off the doctors, the police.”*
A murmur rippled through the street. Behind windows, frightened eyes flickered.
*”Lies!”* Edward roared. *”Everyone knew she was ill”*
*”Ill?”* Emily cut in sharply. *”Or just in the way of your inheritance?”*
The man staggered but steadied himself.
*”Youve no proof.”*
Emily raised her hand.
*”And this?”*
She held up a thin, worn diary. The old mans face turned ashen.
*”Thats”*
*”Yes. My mothers journal. Found in a cousins attic. Everythings in here. Her fears, her suspicions. How you slipped pills into her tea to make her seem weak. How you forged her will.”*
Edwards eyes widened. His cane slipped, nearly clattering to the ground.
*”Lies all lies”*
Emily shrugged.
*”Perhaps. But journalists love stories like these. Especially ones with paper trails.”*
Silence swallowed the street. Only the wind rustled the trees.
Edward raised a trembling hand, as if to strikethen wavered. His cane dropped. He collapsed onto the porch bench, his face twisted, dignity replaced by helplessness. For the first time, the clans patriarch looked weak.
*”This is my street”* he rasped, gasping for air.
*”Not anymore,”* Emily replied quietly.
She turned on her heel and walked toward her car.
Then, the unexpected. Neighbours stepped forward. Aunt Beatrice, pale and dishevelled, clutching a paper.
*”Shes right!”* she cried. *”I sold everything to her we couldnt pay the loans”*
Next came Uncle William, eyes downcast.
*”My business failed,”* he muttered. *”I signed, too.”*
The crowds murmurs grew louder. Some wept, others cursed. The street, once pristine, now crumbled under the weight of secrets.
Emily started the engine. In the rearview mirror, she saw Edwardmotionless, like a shattered statuehis family scrambling around him, trying to salvage the ruins.
The pain in her chest, years of it, no longer ruled her.
Her hands steadied the wheel. She hadnt returned for nothing.
Thirty-two years ago, theyd thrown her out like rubbish.
Today, she became the streets new mistress.
The road that once belonged to Edwards clan now lay in Emilys hands. Her revenge wasnt rage or violenceit was papers, cold logic, and time, which had finally set things right.
