Chapter 5 - Dinner in Upper Arlington
Uncle Robert’s estate in Upper Arlington was a sprawling stone mansion with a circular brick driveway, manicured lawns, and warm lantern lighting.
When I pulled up in my Civic at 6:55 PM on Friday, there were already four luxury cars parked out front: Uncle Robert’s Lincoln, my cousin Mark’s Audi, and my mother’s sedan.
I sat in my car for a moment, straightening the lapels of my dark gray blazer.
Beside me in the passenger seat sat a tall man in a navy suit named Greg—a licensed process server hired through Ms. Reed’s firm.
"You ready, Ms. Donovan?" Greg asked, holding a heavy manila envelope containing three formal summonses from the Franklin County Municipal Court.
"I've been ready for two years, Greg," I said. "Wait in your car until I text you the code word. When I text 'Garbage,' you walk in through the front door."
"Got it," Greg nodded.
I stepped out of the car and walked up the stone steps to the massive oak front door.
Inside, the grand dining room was set for eight people. The scent of roasted prime rib and fine wine filled the air.
My mother was sitting at the head of the long dining table, looking frail and holding a handkerchief. Rachel sat beside her, wearing an oversized sweater, looking pale, defeated, and utterly devoid of her usual arrogant posture. Uncle Robert sat at the opposite head, sipping scotch from a crystal glass.
When I stepped into the room, the conversation died instantly.
"Emma," Uncle Robert stood up, spreading his arms wide with an exaggerated, hollow smile. "Thank you for being sensible and joining us. Sit down, have some dinner."
"I’m not here to eat, Uncle Robert," I said, remaining standing near the edge of the dining room rug.
Mom dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, her voice cracking with dramatic sorrow. "Emma... look at what you’ve done to your sister. She can't go to work. She had to take an Uber to get here! Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for our family?"
"Where is her work, Mom?" I asked, looking directly at Rachel. "Where is this famous fashion consulting office she goes to? Give me the address right now, and I’ll tear up the debt papers."
Rachel’s lip trembled. She looked down at her plate, refusing to answer.
"That is beside the point!" Uncle Robert snapped, slamming his glass onto the table. "We are here to resolve the financial dispute. I have drafted a family agreement."
He slid a single sheet of paper across the table toward me.
I picked it up.
The document claimed that I, Emma Donovan, agreed to release Rachel Donovan and Mary Donovan from all legal claims, cancel the identity theft reports, and assume full financial responsibility for the remaining $18,000 BMW deficiency balance in exchange for a monthly payment of $200 from Rachel over the next fifteen years.
I laughed out loud—a crisp, clear laugh that echoed off the high ceilings.
"$200 a month?" I said. "With zero interest? That wouldn't even cover the interest accumulating on the credit cards she fraudulently opened under my name."
"It’s what she can afford right now, Emma!" Mom shouted, dropping her helpless facade, her face turning red with familiar anger. "You make eighty-five thousand dollars a year! You live in a cheap one-bedroom apartment! What do you even need that money for?! You’re just being spiteful because your sister is prettier than you and always got more attention!"
The room went dead silent.
My cousin Mark looked down at his napkin, visibly uncomfortable. Uncle Robert shifted in his chair.
I looked at my mother—the woman who had watched my sister dump coffee grounds into my hair and told me not to cry.
"Thank you for finally telling the truth, Mom," I said softly.
I pulled out my phone, typed a single word into a text message, and hit send:
May you like
Garbage.
Five seconds later, the front doorbell chimed.
