By the time I reached my building that Christmas night, Marcus had already emailed the cash-offer agreement.
I parked in the underground garage and sat for a moment with both hands resting on the steering wheel.
My family thought my silence meant hesitation.
It did not.
Silence was how I worked.
I opened the agreement on my laptop upstairs.
$480,000 cash.
Fast close.
No traditional financing contingency.
The offer was lower than what I might have gotten by listing conventionally, but speed mattered more than squeezing out every final dollar.
I was not trying to win a negotiation.
I was trying to end one before my family realized they had never been invited into it.
At 11:43 that night, I electronically signed.
At 11:51, I forwarded everything to Gavin.
His reply came five minutes later.
I hope you know what you’re doing.
I typed back:
I finally do.
The next morning, my mother called seven times before 8:00.
I ignored her while packing.
Not because she told me to.
Because the condo was being sold.
The difference mattered.
I started with documents, electronics, jewelry, and anything sentimental.
Then clothes.
Then kitchenware.
I photographed every room before touching anything else.
At 9:30, Gavin called.
“Your father contacted me.”
I stopped folding a sweater.
“How did he get your number?”
“Probably searched my name after seeing the folder.”
“What did he want?”
“He told my receptionist I was assisting you in committing fraud against your family.”
That actually made me smile.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.
He is not my client.”
Then Gavin’s voice became more serious.
“Cassidy, I need to ask this plainly.
Did your parents contribute money toward the purchase price beyond any documented gift or loan?”
“No.”
“Did they make mortgage payments?”
“No.”
“HOA?”
“No.”
“Taxes?”
“No.”
“Repairs?”
“No.”
“Then keep records of everything and do not sign anything they give you.”
I looked around the home I had spent five years building.
“I’m selling.”
There was a pause.
“How quickly?”
“Before New Year’s Eve.”
