“And?”
“He said there wasn’t an inheritance while you were alive. That it was your money too. He said I needed to sell the house.”
I sat on the bed.
The furnace shuddered beneath us.
For a moment, I could hear William’s voice so clearly that I nearly turned toward it.
Ethan crouched in front of me.
“He wasn’t angry. That made it worse.”
“What happened after he said no?”
“Khloe found someone who said the release would be simple.”
“Found someone?”
“A document service online. They didn’t know what we were doing. We gave them the details.”
He was still choosing pronouns like stepping-stones across deep water.
“Who copied my signature?”
“Khloe.”
“What did you do?”
He swallowed.
“I sent her an old loan agreement. With your signature on it.”
I stood up too quickly. He reached to steady me, and I caught the bedpost instead.
“Get my other suitcase.”
“Mom—”
“Please do that one thing without asking me to make it easier.”
He carried it upstairs.
In the hall, Mercer told me a hotel room was available. Our old house had sold shortly before William’s final illness. We had planned to choose a smaller place together. When Ethan offered a room after the funeral, I had mistaken the invitation for shelter.
Mercer held out his telephone.
“The lender needs your written confirmation that the release was unauthorized. We also need to notify the recording office and make a police report.”
Ethan stood beside the suitcases.
Khloe moved between us.
“If you say it was a misunderstanding, the application can simply be withdrawn.”
“It was not a misunderstanding,” Mercer said.
She ignored him.
