“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said.
“Don’t play games with me.” Brandon’s voice rose. “There are people at my house.”
I glanced toward the window. Downtown Houston shimmered beneath a pale winter sun, all glass and steel and ambition.
“Your house?” I asked.
The silence that followed was so satisfying, it almost made me ashamed.
Almost.
Amber’s voice cut in from somewhere behind him. “Put it on speaker.”
A second later, Brandon came back louder. “Dad. Tell these people to leave.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can and you will.”
“No,” I said. “I can’t. They represent the new owner.”
A chair scraped violently on his end. “The new what?”
“The new owner.”
“You sold my house?”
“I sold my property.”
“Your property?” he shouted. “You gave that house to me.”
“I let you live there.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, Brandon,” I said softly. “It isn’t.”
