deed.
The authorization paperwork.
Text messages.
Emails.
Voicemails.
Every piece of evidence.
The next morning he called me.
“Laura.”
His voice sounded unusually serious.
“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
