entered the office behind my mother and sister.
For the first time since the video call began, nobody spoke.
Elise stood beside a rack of fabric samples in a white bridal fitting robe, one hand pressed to her chest as if she were the person who had been betrayed.
My mother gripped the back of a leather chair.
The easy laughter she had used while telling me they had spent my college fund was gone.
On my laptop screen, the deed to Belladonna Estate filled the shared window.
My name appeared beside the words CONTROLLING MEMBER.
The booking agent looked from the document to my mother.
“Mrs. Mercer, did you know your son owned the property?”
Mom’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Elise recovered first.
“This has to be some kind of mistake,” she said.
“Owen takes pictures of houses.
He doesn’t own an estate in Italy.”
