That was answer enough.
I thought about his words from the airport.
I spent it.
He hadn’t been exaggerating.
The three million dollars had already been poured into Tessa’s business—covering debts, overdue obligations, inventory, operating expenses, and whatever else she had convinced him could keep it alive.
The money that was supposed to represent the purchase price for my farmhouse was no longer sitting safely in an account waiting for the paperwork to clear.
It was gone.
And the farmhouse had never legally left the trust.
The man in the suit paced two steps away and pulled out his phone.
Brandon pointed at him.
“Who are you calling?”
“My attorney.”
“You don’t need an attorney.”
The man stared at him.
“That may be the least convincing thing you’ve said today.”
Tessa turned toward me.
For the first time, her voice softened.
“Clara, we can fix this.”
I almost laughed again.
“We?”
She swallowed.
“Brandon made a mistake.”
“A mistake is sending money to the wrong account.
This required documents, signatures, negotiations, and a transfer of three million dollars.”
“He was trying to help me.”
“With my property.”
She looked down.
Then she tried another angle.
“What do you want?”
I looked through the gate.
The farmhouse stood exactly where it had stood when my grandmother was alive.
White siding.
Dark roof.
Rebuilt east wing catching the afternoon light.
Beyond it, rows of apple trees stretched toward the water.
For six hours, I had imagined arriving to find strangers moving furniture through the front door.
Instead, the gate remained locked.
My property manager still had control of the keys.
No lawful transfer had occurred.
The retreat space in the barn was untouched.
The land was safe.
That changed what I wanted.
I didn’t need revenge.
I needed records.
“I want every document,” I said.
“Every email.
Every message.
Every transfer record.
Every account the money touched.”
Brandon shook his head.
“No.”
My attorney’s voice came through the speaker.
“Brandon, preserving those records would be in everyone’s interest.”
Brandon stared at my phone.
“This is a family matter.”
“No,” my attorney said.
