Chapter 2
“Stop the sale. Now.”
Constance’s words still rang in my ear. I glanced toward the living room, where Theo and Sam were arguing over the cushion fort, then tapped the speaker icon. The ship’s connection crackled, and Constance’s breath came through in short, impatient bursts.
“Vance is listening,” I said.
Silence. Then a faint laugh.
“Of course he is. You’ve always needed someone to tell you what to think.”
I opened the conference-call screen and added Vance. He answered from his office, his voice calm and close.
“I’m here, Adeline.”
Constance made a sharp sound of disapproval.
“Let’s not pretend this is a family discussion,” she said. “You’re trying to take a home away from the people who belong in it.”
“You mean the people who’ve been living there,” I said. “That isn’t the same as owning it.”
“You can tell yourself whatever makes this easier.”
Her voice wavered beneath the ship’s static, but the accusation landed cleanly. I pictured her in the stone house’s sunny dining room, directing me toward the folding chair while everyone else took their places. I’d paid the bills that kept those rooms warm. Still, she had managed to make me feel like a guest.
“This has nothing to do with who belongs,” Vance said. “The trustee is reviewing the document you submitted.”
“Then the trustee can review it after Adeline withdraws the sale.”
“No,” I said.
A beat of silence. I heard the faint clink of glass and imagined the sea rolling under her feet.
“You’re going to regret making this public,” Constance said. “The family will hear exactly what you’ve done. I won’t protect you from the questions.”
“Questions about what?”
“About how you could sell your grandmother’s home out from under us.”
Behind me, one of the boys let out a triumphant whoop. The sound was ordinary and bright, and I held on to it.
“You’re free to tell people the truth,” I said.
“I will.”
“Then we’re done.”
I ended the call before she could answer. For a moment, the room seemed too quiet despite the boys’ noisy fort. Vance stayed on the line.
“Don’t answer another call from her about the sale,” he said. “If she contacts you, save the message.”
“I’m not afraid of what she’ll say.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
That gentleness stung more than a warning would have. I looked at the phone, where Constance’s name had vanished, and wished that being related to someone made it easier to hear her voice without flinching.
A message appeared before I could respond. Lauren.
Mom says Grandma promised the house to me. You know that, right?
I read it once, then again. My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I could have typed that Lauren knew nothing about the trust, nothing about the payments, nothing about the envelope I’d carried home like a stone in my pocket. I could have asked how she could believe Constance without asking me.
Instead, I wrote: I know what the trust says. Vance can explain the process to you if you want to hear it.
Lauren’s reply came quickly.
She said Grandma told her herself.
I set the phone down. In the living room, the boys had wedged a blanket between the couch and the coffee table. Theo was trying to make a window with a book. Their small, determined hands tugged and adjusted until the blanket stayed up.
It hurt that Lauren could believe there had been a promise I’d never heard about. It hurt more that she had sent the message as if the matter were already settled.
“She says Grandma promised it to her,” I told Vance.
His answer came after a pause. “That’s the first I’ve heard of that claim.”
“Can she stop the sale by saying it?”
“The trustee has to examine anything submitted. That doesn’t mean it’s accepted, and it doesn’t erase your authorization.”
“But it could slow things down.”
“It could complicate the buyer’s review.”
I pressed my palm against the counter. “I want to know what the trustee actually received. Not a summary. Not another promise that I’ll be told if something changes. The documents.”
“You’ll get them.”
“And before the cruise is over?”
“I’ll ask the trustee to send everything today.”
The promise was small, but this time it felt different. I wasn’t waiting for someone to decide whether I deserved to know what was happening. I was asking for it plainly.
A knock sounded at the front door.
The twins kept arguing over the window. I walked down the hall and opened the door to a courier holding a thick envelope against his chest.
“Adeline Carter?”
“Yes.”
He checked his screen, then held out the envelope. I signed, thanked him, and shut the door. My name and address were printed beneath a law firm’s letterhead. The envelope was heavy enough to flex in my hands.
“What is it?” Vance asked through the phone.
“I don’t know yet.”
I took it to the kitchen and set it beside the sealed envelope from my grandmother’s attorney. The two pieces of paper faced each other on the counter: one from the past, one arriving with a courier and a law firm’s name.
I slid a finger beneath the flap.
The letter inside demanded that the property be preserved and that no transfer proceed while Constance’s claim was disputed. It was signed by her attorney. I read it twice, trying to separate its forceful language from the actual facts it described.
Then I reached the attachments.
The first page had a label in the corner: Exhibit A.
“Vance,” I said. “There’s something attached.”
“Read me the heading.”
I did. He went quiet.
The page in his office had shown that Constance claimed Lauren should receive the house. This was more than that single disputed page. The attachment was several sheets long, joined at the corner, with a title printed across the top.
Vance’s voice changed.
“That’s the amendment itself,” he said. “The complete document.”
My fingers tightened around the paper.
May you like
“I’ve never seen this before.”
“No,” he said. “You haven’t.”
