Chapter 2 - The Truth Beneath the Deed
Robert didn't speak. His hands began to tremble around the edges of the paper.
Dean crossed his arms, stepping up behind his wife. “Look, Robert, you told us we had a place here for at least six months rent-free while we sort out our investments. You need to get your wife under control.”
“Robert,” I said, my voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. “Would you like to explain the deed to your daughter, or should I?”
Claire scoffed. “Explain what? That you’re having a breakdown?”
“Claire, be quiet,” Robert choked out.
Claire froze. Her father had never spoken to her in that tone in her entire life.
I walked over to the console table and picked up three manila folders, laying them out side by side.
“Let’s review a few facts,” I began, looking directly at Claire. “Fact number one: This home was purchased thirty years ago through the Reed Family Trust—my family trust—five years before I ever met your father. The title, the deed, and the land rights belong entirely to me.”
Claire’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. “That’s impossible. Dad pays the property taxes!”
“With what money?” I asked gently.
She blinked.
“That brings us to fact number two,” I continued, tapping the second folder. “Your father’s architectural consulting firm collapsed eighteen months ago. The lavish lifestyle he projects, the cars in the driveway, the expensive bourbon Dean helped himself to last night—it has all been financed through an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar promissory note issued by my private investment fund.”
Dean’s smug grin vanished instantly.
“An eight-hundred-thousand-dollar loan,” I reiterated, locking eyes with my husband. “A loan that is currently in technical default because Robert hasn't made a principal payment in four months. I allowed him to defer it because I foolishly believed we were partners. But last night made it abundantly clear what my role in this house was supposed to be.”
Claire looked at her father, panic finally creeping into her voice. “Dad… what is she talking about? Tell me she’s lying!”
Robert couldn't look at her. He kept his eyes glued to the hardwood floor, his shoulders hunched in complete defeat.
“She’s not lying, Claire,” Robert whispered hoarsely.
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“So you see,” I said, turning back to the young couple who had barged into my home with a list of chores for me, “you didn't move into your father’s estate. You barged into my private property, demanded I act as your unpaid domestic servant, and insulted the woman who has been keeping your father out of bankruptcy court.”
Dean swallowed hard, suddenly very aware that he was standing in someone else’s house.
