Lauren had placed a price on it before I had even been told I was being removed.
I looked at Michael.
“And you knew?”
“I knew she was talking about selling it. I didn’t know she had filed anything.”
“But you signed the authorization.”
“I thought it was a repair document.”
“You thought your wife needed authority over my property?”
“I thought I was helping.”
His voice broke on the last word.
Lauren moved toward the hallway.
I stepped between her and the door.
“Leave the folder.”
She stopped.
“Move.”
“No.”
Her eyes flicked toward the living room. “You don’t want the children to see this.”
“Then you should have considered that before you brought a realtor to dinner.”
That landed. Her nostrils flared, and she looked briefly like the woman who had arrived at our house eight years earlier with a careful smile and a story about wanting a fresh start.
I had believed her.
Michael’s phone buzzed on the table.
He picked it up, read the screen, and went pale.
“What?” I asked.
He turned the phone toward me.
An email from a title company filled the screen. The subject line read: WIRE INSTRUCTIONS – HALE PROPERTY CLOSING.
The closing was scheduled for nine o’clock the next morning.
Nora whispered, “That can’t be right.”
“Why not?” Lauren said.
Nora looked at her sharply. “Because the title search would not clear this without confirmation.”
“It did clear.”
“No,” Nora said. “It could not have.”
