“He sold our house?”
“Two weeks before Charles died.”
I stared at her.
“Who bought it?”
“His company.”
The room went silent.
“He planned to move us out,” Daniel said.
June nodded. “The sale was below market value. The deed was transferred to a holding company controlled by Bradley. He likely intended to sell it again.”
I thought of the dying funeral flowers in the living room. The framed pictures. Charles’s chair beside the window.
Bradley had already decided that the house was no longer ours while I was still washing dishes in it.
“What happens now?”
June slid a form toward me.
“You can authorize a civil freeze on the remaining assets and file a criminal complaint. But you must be prepared for Bradley to fight. He may claim Charles misunderstood the transactions or that you gave verbal permission.”
I looked at my signature on the form.
The pen felt heavy.
“If I sign, my son may go to prison.”
Daniel did not answer for me.
I thought of Bradley at six years old, asleep against my shoulder during a thunderstorm. I thought of him at seventeen, shouting that I had ruined his life because I would not let him drive after drinking. I thought of the little boy who had once tucked a dandelion behind my ear and called me beautiful.
Then I remembered the suitcase.
“Give me the pen.”
I signed.
CHAPTER 3 – The Door He Locked
Bradley arrived at Daniel’s house before sunset.
He did not knock. He struck the door with the flat of his hand until the glass rattled.
Daniel moved in front of me.
“Stay behind me.”
“I’m not hiding.”
He looked at me then, and something in my face made him step aside.
I opened the door.
Bradley stood on the porch in a wool coat, his hair wet from the rain. He looked exhausted, but not repentant.
