My mother crossed her arms as if the matter were settled. “We’re giving you until Friday. Either buy Ashley out for four hundred thousand or agree to sell the house and split the proceeds. It’s only fair.”
I stared at them, at the smug certainty on their faces, and something cold settled into place inside me. Not fear.
Clarity.
“Are you sure?” I asked, voice calm. “You’ve filed everything properly?”
“Completely,” my father said. “Our lawyer confirmed it.”
“Okay,” I said softly. “Then I’ll see you Friday.”
They left looking victorious.
Ashley was already texting as she walked to her car, her smile bright and greedy.
As soon as they drove away, I texted Richard.
They came. Prepare.
His response was immediate.
Already on it. Sheriff will be ready.
Friday morning arrived cold and bright. I woke before dawn, made coffee, and sat on the porch watching the light creep across the street. The morning felt peaceful in the way my grandparents would have liked. The kind of morning that made you believe in the possibility of stability.
At 9:47, three vehicles pulled into the driveway.
My parents’ Mercedes. Ashley’s leased BMW. And a moving truck marked Rapid Relocations.
They’d brought movers.
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