“No. I want you to explain the agreement.”
“I already did.”
“No. You told me you were helping. Explain why someone prepared a contract to buy my home without speaking to me.”
Gregory glanced toward Christopher again.
“Can we talk privately?”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
There it was.
The version of him Abigail had been afraid of.
Not shouting.
Not raging.
Just the instant loss of warmth when I did not comply.
Gregory pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down.
“The buyer is an investor,” he said. “I told him you might be interested.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You said you were struggling.”
“I said my refrigerator needed replacing.”
“You said money was tight.”
“That is not permission to sell my home.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“You’re making everything sound sinister.”
I opened the contract.
“Why is Abigail’s address relevant?”
For the first time, Gregory did not have a fast answer.
