Chapter 5 - MY FATHER’S HOUSE
Dad had kept my old room.
Not like a shrine. There were shipping boxes in the closet and a treadmill where my desk used to be.
But the yellow quilt was still on the bed.
I sat on it while he put fresh towels in the bathroom.
“I thought you’d changed the locks,” I said.
He stopped.
“Why would I do that?”
“Ryan said you told him I wasn’t welcome.”
Dad turned slowly.
“When?”
“After Thanksgiving. When you two fought.”
He sat in the chair by the window.
“I told him I wasn’t putting money into his project. He called me controlling. I told him I wanted to hear from you directly.”
“He said you wanted me to leave him before you’d speak to me.”
“I called you.”
“I know.”
I had watched those calls ring out.
Ryan would sit beside me, shaking his head.
See? He can’t stand losing control.
“I should’ve answered,” I said.
Dad leaned forward.
“I should’ve found a way to tell you I loved you without turning every conversation into a warning about him.”
“You were right.”
“That doesn’t mean I handled it right.”
That broke something loose in me.
I cried into my hands while he sat close enough to reach, waiting until I leaned toward him.
Later, an attorney named Mara Ellis arrived. Dad knew her through work, but she made it clear she represented me.
“Your father can help,” she said. “He doesn’t make your decisions.”
I liked her immediately.
We reviewed the recording, the messages, and the few trust statements I could access.
Ryan had changed the password to the rest.
Mara helped me contact the trustee through a number we verified independently. She also arranged for a lawyer who handled financial disputes to review the documents.
Then she asked about the house.
“Whose name is on the deed?”
“Both of ours.”
“Mortgage?”
“Both.”
“Any recent refinancing?”
“No.”
She turned my laptop toward me.
The credit report I had just requested showed a new loan inquiry.
Then another.
Then an account I didn’t recognize.
The date beside it was six weeks earlier.
“What is that?” I asked.
Mara’s expression stayed calm.
May you like
But she moved her notebook closer.
“That,” she said, “is something we need to stop from getting worse.”
