“What?”
“They have a major problem.”
“How major?”
“The document doesn’t give your father authority to transfer ownership.”
I sat down.
“You mean—”
“I mean if the facts are what they appear to be, this sale never should have happened.”
For the first time since the call, I felt calm.
Not relieved.
Not happy.
Just calm.
Because facts didn’t care about family stories.
Facts didn’t care about favoritism.
Facts didn’t care who cried the loudest.
Facts were facts.
Two weeks later Marcus sent a demand letter.
