I leaned against the porch railing.
“No.”
He blinked.
“Courtney ran the numbers. We can’t afford the penthouse taxes. Sell this place, move into a small apartment near us, and give us the money.”
“No.”
He called my home a shack.
So I opened the front door just enough for him to see the massive stone fireplace, modern kitchen, and spotless hardwood floors.
His jaw dropped.
“Your father left me a debt-free home,” I said. “He left you a luxury you can’t afford.”
Brandon walked away furious.
Two weeks later, a massive luxury SUV pulled into my driveway.
Courtney stepped out wearing designer sunglasses.
Her parents followed behind her.
She marched straight toward my porch with an overnight bag in her hand.
“We’re here to audit this property,” she announced. “We’ll be staying for the weekend.”
I remained seated in my rocking chair.
“This is private property. You were not invited.”
Courtney laughed.
Then I reached into the pocket of my apron.
My fingers closed around the small black remote George had left for me.
At the far end of the driveway, the heavy iron gate stood wide open.
Courtney was still smiling when I pressed the button.”
The iron gate began to slide across the driveway with a low mechanical hum. Courtney turned toward the sound, her sunglasses slipping down her nose. The SUV was still parked safely inside the property, well clear of the gate’s path. I kept my thumb on the remote until the barrier closed and the automatic lock engaged.
“You can’t trap us here!” she shouted.
“The pedestrian exit is open, and the gate can be released for your vehicle when you’re ready to leave,” I said. “But nobody else is driving into my property for a surprise inspection.”
Courtney’s father, Robert, lowered his overnight bag. Her mother, Elaine, looked from my rocking chair to the beautifully restored house and then back to Courtney.
“You told us this place was falling apart,” Elaine said.
Courtney avoided her eyes. “It was supposed to be.”
“According to whom?” I asked.
Brandon emerged from behind the SUV. I hadn’t noticed him in the back seat. His expression was so weary that my first impulse was to invite him inside and make coffee. Instead I stayed on the porch and waited for him to speak.
