“Pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“Is it expensive?”
Trevor and I looked at each other.
Then laughed.
The girl frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I opened it.
“It's valuable.”
Trevor said softly:
“Different thing.”
I looked at him.
Yes.
Different thing.
Later that evening, after everyone left, Ana and I sat on the tailgate of my old truck.
Same truck I'd bought after selling the sedan.
Nothing luxurious.
Still mine.
She asked:
“You happy?”
“Dangerous question.”
“Answer.”
I looked across Cedarline's yard.
Four years earlier, I had sat at my son's birthday dinner believing the worst problem in our family was ingratitude.
Then he hit me.
The next morning I sold the house.
And I thought that was the story.
A mother takes back a mansion from a cruel son.
Simple.
Satisfying.
It wasn't.
The house was only the loose thread.
Pulling it exposed everything.
Forged signatures.
Six million dollars.
Martin's old theft.
Kristen's takeover plan.
