Natalie read the name anyway.
“Audrey Elise Mercer,” she said.
“Sole titleholder.”
Garret’s smile remained in place for half a second too long.
Then he laughed.
It was the dismissive laugh he used whenever he believed someone beneath him had misunderstood the situation.
“That document is old,” he said.
“We’re married.
Redwood Crest is our home.”
Natalie turned another page in the folder.
“The document is current.
Audrey purchased the property before the marriage.
You were never added to the deed.
The mortgage was satisfied from an account identified in your prenup as her separate property.”
Garret’s mother lowered her champagne glass.
Garret leaned closer to his screen.
“Who exactly are you?”
“The person Audrey asked to prepare the sale.”
His expression hardened.
“There is no sale.”
Natalie glanced at me rather than answering him.
The cash buyer’s representative was still connected to the call, silent and unseen.
He had already confirmed that his client remained interested, provided Audrey could deliver clear title and possession on the accelerated schedule.
I looked at Garret.
“Did you hear her?” I asked.
He scoffed.
“You are not selling my house because we had one argument.”
“This stopped being an argument when you locked your newborn outside in the rain.”
“My newborn was with you.”
Paige made a sound behind me, somewhere between disbelief and disgust.
Garret heard it.
“Stay out of this, Paige.”
“She picked up your wife and daughter from the driveway,” Natalie said.
“That makes her relevant.”
His mother stepped into full view behind him.
“Audrey has always been theatrical,” she said.
“Garret was trying to teach her that a marriage cannot function when one person refuses to respect the family.”
I looked at the woman who had spent six years treating my home as her private resort.
She had selected the guest rooms for relatives without asking.
She had replaced artwork because it was not to her taste.
She had once invited thirty people to Thanksgiving and informed me afterward because, in her words, family homes were not governed by permission slips.
I had swallowed every intrusion to keep peace.
Now she stood in a hotel I had indirectly paid for, telling me I needed to respect the family while my daughter’s damp blanket lay across Paige’s kitchen chair.
“What apology do you want?” I asked.
Garret relaxed slightly, mistaking the question for surrender.
“You embarrassed my mother when you told her she couldn’t move into the east wing for the winter.”
“She has a home.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“What is the point?”
“The point is that you make every major decision as though everything belongs to you.”
No one spoke.
Even his mother seemed to realize what he had just said.
I looked down at the deed beneath Natalie’s hand.
“Redwood Crest does belong to me.”
Garret’s jaw tightened.
“You know what I mean.”
