For the first time, I understood why he was shaking.
They hadn’t merely decided to stay.
They had been pressuring my parents to sign something.
I held out my hand.
“Give me the folder.”
Gregory pulled it against his chest.
“You don’t need to see it.”
That was when I smiled.
Not because anything was funny.
Because Gregory still believed he was negotiating with the frightened son of two frightened retirees.
He had no idea I was the only person in that room who legally owned a single inch of the property.
“Interesting,” I said. “Why don’t you tell me one more time whose house this is?”
Gregory’s jaw tightened.
“Ours now.”
I took out my phone and made one call.
Then I walked to the small writing desk beside the windows, unlocked the bottom drawer with the key on my ring, and removed the sealed property file I had placed there on anniversary weekend.
