She arranged the showing.
I looked directly at my sister.
“You listed my unit?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
Officer Reyes had already reviewed the paperwork.
My ownership was clear.
Dileia had no deed, no agency agreement, no authorization to market the property, and no legitimate role in any sale involving Caldwell Street.
The Holts had responded to what looked like a legitimate listing posted by a licensed real estate agent.
They were not the problem.
Officer Reyes explained that they were free to leave.
Sandra looked at me one more time.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
She and Greg left quickly.
Neither of them looked at Dileia.
That was when my sister moved closer.
“Ranata, listen to me.”
I looked down at the key still in her hand.
“Where did you get that?”
She glanced at it as though she had forgotten she was holding it.
“It’s not important.”
“It is to me.”
“I was going to tell you.”
“About the key or the listing?”
Her mouth tightened.
“You’re acting like I tried to steal your house.”
“You advertised part of my property for sale.”
“I found interested buyers.”
“You found buyers for something you don’t own.”
She exhaled and glanced toward the officers.
That was Dileia under pressure. She didn’t immediately get louder. First she searched for an argument that would make the other person look unreasonable.
“You don’t understand what I was trying to do.”
“Then explain it.”
She hesitated.
“I knew you were doing well.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“I knew you had money tied up in something down here. Mom mentioned you’d been busy on weekends. I figured it out.”
“You figured out the address?”
“I looked.”
That answer disturbed me almost as much as the listing itself.
Not because the property had been impossible to find.
Public records existed.
But because she had searched.
Then entered.
Then taken photographs.
Then listed it.
Every step required another decision.
None of this had happened by accident.
Dileia folded her arms.
“I was going to talk to you before anything became final.”
“After bringing buyers through?”
“They were interested.”
“In my property.”
“You’re not even using the upstairs unit.”
That sentence clarified something for me.
In Dileia’s mind, something unused had become something available.
And because I was her sister, available had become negotiable.
“I thought we could split it,” she said.
For the first time all evening, I almost laughed.
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