I had told her no.
She had never forgiven me for embarrassing her in front of workers.
“I see,” I said. “Well, I hope you got a good price.”
“Don’t worry about the numbers. Just pack your things and be out by next Friday. Leave the keys on the kitchen island. The new owners want to begin demolition immediately.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. “Goodbye, Eleanor.”
I ended the call and set the phone down.
Then I laughed.
Not because anything was funny, but because I had just heard the sound of a trap closing. Eleanor had always mistaken silence for surrender. She never understood that some people go quiet because they are calculating.
I called Benjamin Vance. He answered on the second ring, calm and almost amused.
“Harper. I wondered how long she would wait.”
“She did it,” I said, looking out at my father’s rose garden. “She actually signed papers to sell the house.”
A dry note entered his voice.
“How bold. Shall we begin?”
“Yes. And Benjamin, please make sure the buyers’ attorney understands what happened. I don’t want innocent people losing money because of Eleanor.”
“Already handled. I’ll contact their representation immediately. Give it a few hours.”
After I hung up, I walked through the house slowly. My fingers brushed the walls my father had repaired himself, the built-in shelves he had reinforced because he knew I would keep buying too many heavy books. Every room still held him. But before I reached the top of the stairs, a hard knock echoed from the front door.
It was too soon to be Eleanor.
Too aggressive to be a delivery.
I went downstairs and opened the door to find a man in a dark suit holding a thick envelope.
“Harper Sterling? You’ve been served.”
I tore it open as he walked away. It was not about the house sale. Eleanor had filed a petition to freeze my personal bank accounts, claiming I had been stealing from the estate. She was not only trying to take the house. She was trying to cut off my money before I could fight back.
The war had not just begun.
It had escalated.
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