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Tell them there are intruders on my property. I watched on the cameras as they made their way toward the house. My father’s face was red with rage. Madison looked around with obvious shock, taking in the manicured grounds, the size of the house, the luxury of everything. They reached the front door and began pounding on it. Open up, Rebecca.
Stop being ridiculous. I stayed in the kitchen, my phone in my hand. The 911 dispatcher confirmed that officers were on their way, but my property was in an unincorporated area, and the response time would be 15 to 20 minutes. I also called my property management company’s emergency line and told them what was happening. The pounding continued.
Then I heard glass shatter. They’d broken the window next to the front door. “Ma’am, you need to hide,” the catering manager said urgently. “My staff and I can handle this.” “No, everyone stays in the kitchen. Lock the door behind me.” I walked toward the front of the house, my heart hammering.
Through the security cameras mounted in every room, I could see my father reaching through the broken window, trying to unlock the door from the inside. He managed it. The door swung open and they burst inside. I met them in the foyer, keeping my distance. The security cameras would capture everything with crystal clarity, both video and audio.
I’d had a state-of-the-art system installed, and I’d never been more grateful for it. Every angle was covered. How dare you ignore us? my father said, advancing on me. His face was purple with anger. You ungrateful, selfish. Get out of my house. I’ve called the police. They’re on their way. Your house? Madison laughed, but it sounded slightly hysterical.
This is your house? How? I work. I succeed at what I do. Now get out. You’re showing off. My mother’s voice was shrill. You’re trying to make us look bad. Everything isn’t about you. I bought this house because I wanted it. I invited people to Thanksgiving because you excluded them. Your actions led to this.
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