When I finished, she leaned back against the sofa and let out a long breath through her nose.
“This is not cheating,” she said. “I mean, obviously it is cheating. But that’s not the headline. This is a coordinated fraud. You are not dealing with bad behavior. You are dealing with a crew.”
I stared at her. “A crew?”
“Yeah. A family business. Emotionally abusive people love calling it family when they want access to the assets.”
The absurdity of the phrasing made a broken laugh escape me.
Cassie reached for the notepad from the secretary desk and clicked a pen. “We do not panic. We build a timeline. How long are they gone?”
“Seven days. They fly back Tuesday.”
“Good. That means we have a window.” She began writing in block letters. “Step one: duplicate every piece of evidence in at least three places. Step two: you call a lawyer tomorrow morning. Not a gentle one. A shark in tasteful shoes. Step three: banking. Lock everything. Step four: the house.”
My gaze followed hers around the living room. Stained glass in the front window, a carved oak banister, original hardwood floors polished by Betty’s routines and my own. The turret room upstairs where Tiffany used to film “cozy sister chats” whenever she visited. The fireplace mantel where Betty kept Christmas cards in silver frames. The house was more than real estate. It was the only place in my life that had ever felt chosen for me with love.
“I can’t let them get it,” I whispered.
“Then don’t.” Cassie’s pen tapped the paper. “But you also can’t stay here if they are circling it like vultures. As long as you’re in the nest, they think you’re still playing.”
I knew what she meant before she said it and still flinched when the words came.
“Sell it,” she said. “Fast. Cash. Clean exit.”
My first instinct was grief. Aunt Betty’s house? The Victorian with the wraparound porch and the kitchen she taught me to cook in and the library where she let me curl up during my parents’ parties because she knew I hated being displayed? Selling it felt like cutting off a limb.
Cassie saw it happen on my face. “Listen to me. Betty left it to you, not to a street address. If the walls are what keep you tied to predators, then the walls are already contaminated.”
The rain shifted, softening for a moment. In that brief quiet, another thought surfaced.
“I have an offer,” I said slowly. “In London.”
Cassie blinked. “What?”