My father stared at the document as if the words might rearrange themselves if he waited long enough.
They didn’t.
The house where we were sitting—the brick two-story with the wide front porch, the house my parents had called theirs for years—was legally mine.
I had bought it.
My name was on the deed.
Years earlier, when my father’s business had collapsed and my parents were facing the possibility of losing their old home, I had stepped in.
I was twenty-eight then, still growing my marketing company, still desperate to prove that success meant I could take care of everyone.
I purchased this house outright and let them live in it.
I paid the property taxes.
I paid the insurance.
When the furnace died, I replaced it.
When the roof leaked, I covered that too.
They called it their home because I never corrected them.
I had never needed to.
Until now.
My father lifted his eyes from the deed.
“What is this supposed to mean?”
“It means,” I said, “you don’t get to lecture me about family property while sitting inside property that belongs to me.”
My mother’s face tightened.
“Isabella, don’t start making threats.”
“I haven’t threatened anyone.”
Marcus reached for the paper, but I placed my hand over it before he could pull it away.
He looked at me with the same annoyed expression he had worn beside the wreckage at the lake.
“So what? You bought Mom and Dad a house.
Everyone knows that.”
“No,” I said.
“Everyone knows I bought them a place to live.
There’s a difference.”
My father pushed his chair back.
“This is ridiculous.
We are your parents.”
“And I am the owner of my lake house.”
Silence.
For the first time since I had arrived, nobody had an immediate answer.
I opened the folder again.
“My attorney sent notices yesterday.
The construction company has stopped all work.
My credit card issuer has frozen the disputed charges.
The forged power of attorney has been reported.”
My mother’s eyes snapped toward me.
“Reported to whom?”
“To the people who handle forged legal documents.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“You called the police on your own father?”
“I reported what happened.”
“You could have talked to me.”
I almost laughed.
“You tore a wall off my house before talking to me.”
Marcus stood.
“Okay.
Fine.
Everybody’s angry.
Let’s stop acting insane.”
He moved around the table and planted both hands on the back of a chair.
“The cottage was sitting empty most of the time.
Jennifer and I need somewhere bigger.
