Chapter 1 · My Sister Sued Me After I Funded Her Dreams

Chapter 1

"Grace, did you get the court summons?" Emily asked. Emily's voice came through the phone, and I heard something I'd never heard from my sister before. She sounded cold and distant, as if she were talking to a stranger rather than her own sister.

I was crouched down in the warehouse at the wholesale market, sorting through boxes of cheap clothes that had just arrived. My phone was wedged between my shoulder and ear while my hands pulled dresses out of cardboard boxes one by one.

The warehouse didn't have AC, and the July heat wrapped around me like a wet blanket. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto a tacky chiffon blouse covered in gaudy flowers.

"What summons?" I asked. I didn't understand what she was talking about, so I hung the dress I was holding on a rusty rack.

Emily went quiet for two seconds, and then I heard her laugh. It was so soft I almost missed it, but it stung like a slap.

"The lawsuit for misappropriating our parents' estate," Emily said. Her voice turned crisp and clear, like she was reading from a script.

"The court should've sent it to your shop by now. I got back yesterday with my boyfriend. He's a lawyer, and he told me that according to inheritance law, the money you've been using from our parents' estate counts as illegal appropriation. I have the right to get it back."

The hanger slipped from my hands and crashed onto the concrete floor. The metal clanged and echoed through the empty warehouse.

"Emily," I said, but my voice didn't sound like mine anymore. "What are you talking about?"

Her voice softened for a split second, but the warmth vanished just as quickly. "Grace, don't do this. Let's just see each other in court. Mr. Warren said it's the fairest way for both of us."

The call ended.

I stood there, the phone still pressed to my ear, listening to the dial tone. Outside the warehouse, the usual afternoon noise from the commercial strip drifted in.

Car horns honked, vendors shouted at customers, and shopping carts rattled across pavement. But the sounds felt distant, like thick glass separated me from the rest of the world.

Six years ago, our parents died in a car accident. The insurance payout and the proceeds from selling their house totaled 290 thousand dollars.

Three days after the funeral, Emily grabbed my hand with red, swollen eyes. She'd just gotten her acceptance letter for grad school. Emily's voice trembled as she spoke. "Grace, I want to study abroad. It was Mom and Dad's biggest dream for me."

I was twenty-five back then, working retail at a clothing store and making a thousand dollars a month.

I asked her, "Will there be enough money?"

Emily stared down at the floor. "A master's program abroad costs about 120 thousand dollars for the year, including tuition and living expenses." She paused and looked up at me. "Grace, I know Mom and Dad left this money for both of us, but—"

I cut her off. "Go."

I thought it was just the beginning, but that "one-year" master's program turned into six years. One year of foundation classes, one year for the master's degree, and four years for a PhD. Every year, she called with the same story.

"Grace, I'm running out of money. All my classmates are traveling around world, and I can't even afford printing fees.

"Grace, my advisor says I need to present at an international conference. I have to pay for the flight and hotel myself.

"Grace, I want to move to a better apartment. My roommates are too loud and I can't focus on my dissertation."

Two hundred and ninety thousand dollars. Gone. Every last cent.

*****

No, it was more than that. I sent my own savings too, and every dollar came from waking up at four in the morning to hit the wholesale markets and staying at the shop until ten at night restocking shelves.

Over six years, I transferred a total of 512,533 dollars. I recorded every single transfer in a blue notebook, and on the first page was the only photo Emily and I took together after our parents' funeral.

She leaned against my shoulder with swollen, red eyes, and I held her with a blank expression on my face.

The warehouse door swung open, and Joan Chandler from the luggage supply shop next door poked her head in. "Grace, you got a delivery from the courthouse," she said. "I signed for it."

She handed me a thick manila envelope and her eyes held a mix of sympathy and curiosity. Nothing stayed secret for more than three days in this wholesale market.

"Thanks, Joan," I said as I took the envelope, and my fingers touched the cold paper.

The envelope felt heavy in my hands. I didn't open it right away, but walked over to the worn folding table in the corner of the warehouse and sat down.

A faded plastic cup sat on the table, its sides covered in coffee stains that looked like tree rings. I'd used this cup for seven years, and it had a small chip on the rim, but I never bothered replacing it.

Chapter 1

The warehouse didn't have AC, and the July heat wrapped around me like a wet blanket. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto a tacky chiffon blouse covered in gaudy flowers.

"What summons?" I asked. I didn't understand what she was talking about, so I hung the dress I was holding on a rusty rack.

Emily went quiet for two seconds, and then I heard her laugh. It was so soft I almost missed it, but it stung like a slap.

"The lawsuit for misappropriating our parents' estate," Emily said. Her voice turned crisp and clear, like she was reading from a script.

The hanger slipped from my hands and crashed onto the concrete floor. The metal clanged and echoed through the empty warehouse.

"Emily," I said, but my voice didn't sound like mine anymore. "What are you talking about?"

Her voice softened for a split second, but the warmth vanished just as quickly. "Grace, don't do this. Let's just see each other in court. Mr. Warren said it's the fairest way for both of us."

The call ended.

I stood there, the phone still pressed to my ear, listening to the dial tone. Outside the warehouse, the usual afternoon noise from the commercial strip drifted in.

Car horns honked, vendors shouted at customers, and shopping carts rattled across pavement. But the sounds felt distant, like thick glass separated me from the rest of the world.

Six years ago, our parents died in a car accident. The insurance payout and the proceeds from selling their house totaled 290 thousand dollars.

I was twenty-five back then, working retail at a clothing store and making a thousand dollars a month.

I asked her, "Will there be enough money?"

I cut her off. "Go."

"Grace, I'm running out of money. All my classmates are traveling around world, and I can't even afford printing fees.

"Grace, my advisor says I need to present at an international conference. I have to pay for the flight and hotel myself.

"Grace, I want to move to a better apartment. My roommates are too loud and I can't focus on my dissertation."

Two hundred and ninety thousand dollars. Gone. Every last cent.

*****

She leaned against my shoulder with swollen, red eyes, and I held her with a blank expression on my face.

The warehouse door swung open, and Joan Chandler from the luggage supply shop next door poked her head in. "Grace, you got a delivery from the courthouse," she said. "I signed for it."

She handed me a thick manila envelope and her eyes held a mix of sympathy and curiosity. Nothing stayed secret for more than three days in this wholesale market.

"Thanks, Joan," I said as I took the envelope, and my fingers touched the cold paper.

The envelope felt heavy in my hands. I didn't open it right away, but walked over to the worn folding table in the corner of the warehouse and sat down.