My Dad Announced My Sister Was Inheriting The $4M Family Beach House — He Didn’t Know I Already Bought It
Part 2
“You absolute psycho!” she shrieked.
I took a calm sip of my espresso, enjoying the rich crema.
“Good morning to you too, Brenda,” I said evenly.
“Don’t play games with me,” she snapped, her breath hitching in genuine rage.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied, tracing a finger over my marble countertop.
“The beach house!” she yelled, the words echoing sharply through the receiver.
“I drove out here early this morning to take measurements for the custom sectional couch Tyler ordered.”
She paused, and I could hear her hyperventilating slightly.
“There is a private security guard standing at the front gate.”
I smiled into my coffee cup, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction.
“He wouldn’t let me onto the driveway,” she continued, her voice rising another octave.
“He told me the property belongs to someone named Megan.”
“Ah,” I said softly.
“Yes, that would be me.”
Total, unbroken silence fell over the line.
I could hear a seagull crying outside my window, a sharp contrast to the dead air on the phone.
“What do you mean, that would be you?”
Brenda finally whispered, the aggression temporarily drained from her voice.
“I bought the beach house six months ago,” I explained, matching her quiet tone.
“Dad listed it privately with a broker to avoid family drama.”
“I made an all-cash offer through my holding company, and the sale cleared in February.”
“That is physically impossible,” Brenda sneered, her familiar arrogance returning instantly.
“You work at a used bookstore, Megan.”
“I worked at a bookstore eight years ago while I was aggressively saving capital,” I corrected her.
“I haven’t had a traditional job in over six years.”
I walked out onto my balcony, letting the ocean breeze hit my face.
“I own thirteen properties now, including the Malibu house.”
“My portfolio is currently valued at roughly nineteen million dollars.”
More silence, heavier and darker this time.
“You’re completely delusional,” she finally said.
“Call the security guard back,” I suggested calmly.
“Ask him to verify the owner’s registration details.”
I heard muffled voices in the background, hushed and urgent.
Brenda had put me on speakerphone, and her husband Tyler was suddenly barking in the background.
“This is a sick, pathetic joke,” Tyler said, using his commanding corporate lawyer voice.
“The property deed is public record,” I interrupted smoothly, cutting him off.
“Pull up the county assessor’s database on your phone.”
“Search for the Pacific Coast Highway address.”
“You will clearly see Pacific Coast Holdings LLC, legally registered to me.”
I listened to the frantic clacking of a smartphone keyboard.
A sharp, wet gasp echoed through the speaker.
“Oh my god,” Tyler muttered, his lawyer persona evaporating.
“She’s actually on the deed.”
“He sold you our family home?”
Brenda sobbed, the reality finally setting in.
“He sold a deteriorating asset to the highest bidder because he didn’t want to pay for a rotting roof,” I clarified.
“But he just announced he was giving it to me in front of two hundred people!” she screamed, her voice cracking.
“He promised you a multi-million dollar asset he no longer legally owned,” I replied coldly.
“They are currently demanding I sell the property back to them at cost to save our father from public humiliation, but why should I surrender my hard-earned investment to a family that spent a decade treating me like garbage?”
