Brittany started pounding on my front door before sunrise, shouting that she was starving and expected me to make breakfast for her entire family. I opened the door wearing my robe and found her husband, their children, and my parents standing behind her. She complained that they had driven across town because they needed somewhere to stay. I reminded her that nobody had asked permission to visit, much less move into my villa for the weekend. Brittany rolled her eyes and said I was being selfish over a few eggs and pancakes.

I refused to cook and closed the door, but the argument continued outside. Eventually, a deputy arrived after a neighbor complained about the shouting. Brittany suddenly became furious and screamed that I had no idea what our parents had done. “Tell her, Dad! Tell her the bank is coming on Friday!” she yelled. Dad’s face went pale. Mom dropped her phone onto the kitchen floor. When she picked it up, she stared at the screen before slowly holding it toward me. The email displayed my villa’s address, a $400,000 loan, and a signature that looked exactly like mine.