My mother-in-law fed my dinner to the dog and called me a freeloader after a fourteen-hour workday. My husband told me to order takeout. I pulled up the deed to the condo I’d bought before we met, opened the front door, and told all three of them to pack their bags...

Five miles from the pristine glass towers of downtown, in a dim, humid room at the Gateway Motor Inn beside Interstate 95, the Jenkins family dynasty was crumbling.

The room smelled faintly of stale tobacco, damp carpet, and cheap disinfectant. Two double beds with worn polyester floral bedspreads occupied most of the space. Cardboard takeout boxes from Popeyes were stacked on the small laminate desk beside Eleanor’s overflowing makeup bag.

Eleanor was lying across one of the beds in a soiled housecoat, an ice pack pressed to her forehead.

“My chest is tight, Mark,” Eleanor groaned for the fourteenth time that hour. “I’m telling you, this air conditioner has mold. It’s poisoning me. I can’t live like this. Go down to the front desk and demand they move us to a suite.”

Mark was sitting on the edge of the second bed, his laptop balanced on his knees, staring at an empty checking balance. His hair was greasy, his eyes bloodshot, and stubble darkened his hollow cheeks.

“There are no suites, Mom!” Mark snapped, slamming his laptop shut. “It’s a two-star motel off the turnpike! There are no suites!”

“Don’t you use that tone with me!” Eleanor flared, sitting up and tossing the ice pack onto the nightstand. “I am in this dump because of you! You promised me that by November we’d be moving into that lovely brick townhouse in Columbus! You promised me I would never have to deal with that arrogant, stuck-up wife of yours again!”

“I was working on it, Mom! If you hadn’t started a screaming match over a damn plate of steak on Tuesday night, we’d still be in the condo!”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” Eleanor shrieked. “It’s my fault that your wife is a psycho? You’re the man of the house, Mark! You were supposed to handle her! Instead, you let her kick us out like stray dogs, and now look at us!”

From the corner of the room, Chloe threw her makeup sponge against the bathroom door.

“Can both of you shut up?” Chloe cried, tears smudging her eyeliner. “My car lease payment was due yesterday! The leasing company locked the digital ignition through the app! I can’t even drive to Starbucks! Mark, where is the money? You said Sarah’s card would work!”

“Sarah canceled the cards, Chloe!” Mark yelled, gripping his temples in absolute agony. “She canceled the cards, she froze the joint account, and she closed the brokerage line! I have four hundred dollars left in cash, and this motel room costs ninety-five dollars a night!”

Chloe stared at her brother in absolute disgust. “Four hundred dollars? That’s it? That won’t even cover my hair appointment next week! What about the loan? The big payout you said was coming?”

Mark swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. He hadn’t told them. He hadn’t dared to tell Eleanor that the regional lender had sent an email that morning requesting an in-person branch interview with Sarah Jenkins to finalize the disbursement.

The loan was dead. The townhouse in Ohio was dead.

And then, Mark’s phone chimed.

It was an email from Barry Cooper, the budget attorney Mark had hired using the last twelve hundred dollars from his emergency credit line:

*Mark,*

*Sarah Jenkins’s attorney, Evelyn Vance, has requested an immediate, mandatory settlement conference for Monday at 9:00 AM at Vance, Sterling & Cole. They have agreed to discuss financial terms. Bring your financial disclosures. This could be our chance to force a buyout.*

*— Barry*

Mark stared at the screen, a desperate, drowning gasp escaping his chest.

“She wants to settle,” Mark breathed, his eyes lighting up with frantic hope.

Eleanor sat up straight, her ailments instantly forgotten. “What did you say?”

“Sarah’s lawyer called a settlement conference for Monday morning,” Mark said, a manic grin spreading across his face. “She’s folding. She’s terrified of the lawsuit. That’s why she called the meeting! She knows she can’t survive a public court trial with her high-end clients watching!”

Eleanor clapped her hands together, her voice instantly shifting from sickly victim to triumphant predator. “I knew it! I knew that little coward would break! Mark, you demand at least two hundred thousand dollars! Tell her that if she doesn't pay, we’ll go to every architectural magazine in the country and tell them she starves family members!”

Chloe picked up her phone, already opening an online shopping cart. “Make sure she pays off my Audi lease, too, Mark. And buy me the new iPhone. I deserve it after having to sleep in this disgusting bed for three nights.”

Mark stood up, straightening his crumpled shirt, convinced that his final bluff had worked.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” Mark said, his voice dripping with unearned confidence. “On Monday morning, Sarah Jenkins is going to pay for every single thing she’s done to this family.”