And suddenly, the door Linda had closed in my face wasn’t the end of the story. It was the prologue.
A court order froze assets connected to my father’s business. Another order placed restrictions on the house.
Linda called me for the first time in three years. Her number popped up on my burner phone.
Her voice was sweet in a way that made my skin crawl.
“Eli,” she said, like we were family again. “What is this? Why are lawyers calling my home? We can talk about this.”
“My dad’s home,” I corrected calmly.
Silence. Then her tone sharpened, revealing the steel beneath.
“You have no right—”
“I have every right,” I said. “And you know why. You know what I found.”
She tried a new strategy—crying. “I lost your father,” she whispered. “How can you do this to me? I’m a widow.”
I didn’t raise my voice.
