My sister announced in the family group chat that I was officially banned from the reunion and she made it clear no one was to tell me where it would be. I didn’t argue. I didn’t reply. I simply opened the location pin… and laughed so hard I had to cover my mouth.

I reach for my phone and dial the emergency line for the property management office. “This is Katelyn Rossi,” I say firmly when a woman named Sarah answers. “I am standing outside my property at 12 High Dune Way, and there are intruders inside.”

“Oh no, Ms. Rossi! Are you safe?” Sarah asks with genuine panic in her voice. “We didn’t have any bookings scheduled for today. Should I call the local sheriff?”

“Yes,” I reply. “Please send the authorities immediately. I have unauthorized people occupying my home, and I want them removed now.”

I hang up and step out of the car. The heat is intense, but I feel a strange, cool steadiness in my chest. I walk up the shell driveway, the crunch of the stones sounding like a countdown.

Jason is the first one to see me as he stands on the deck with a beer. “Katelyn? What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to have the address!” he shouts.

The music inside stops abruptly. Faces appear at the glass doors. Monica rushes out, looking indignant. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up where you aren’t wanted, Kate! You’re ruining the vibe already!”

My mother walks out last, holding a crystal wine glass that I bought in Italy. “Katelyn, leave this instant,” she demands. “We are having a private family moment, and you are not part of it.”

I stop at the base of the stairs and look up at them. “A private family moment? In my house?” I ask, my voice echoing in the salty air.

Monica laughs, a sharp and ugly sound. “Your house? Mom rented this place from a high-end agency. You’re clearly having some kind of mental breakdown.”

I open my folder and pull out the deed and the LLC documents. “This is the deed to the property,” I say. “I am the sole owner of Stone Creek Holdings. I bought this place two years ago, and none of you have permission to be here.”

The color drains from my mother’s face. She looks at the papers in my hand and then back at the house. “That’s impossible,” she whispers. “The girl on the phone said it was available for a family representative.”

“You lied to a clerk to get a security code, Mom,” I say. “And now, the police are on their way to escort you out of my home.”

Two sheriff’s vehicles pull into the driveway at that exact moment. The deputies step out, looking professional and unbothered by the family drama. “We have a report of a trespass,” the lead officer says.