I flipped through the papers slowly, and my stomach turned cold. The deed carried a notary stamp and a signature that looked exactly like my trustee’s. “I will be gone by Friday,” I said quietly, and Mom actually smiled. The moment they left, I called Andrew. “Do not touch anything,” he said. “I am on my way.”
Two days later, a moving truck rumbled up my street. Brooke stepped out first, wearing sunglasses and a victory grin, with Mom, Dad, and three movers behind her. “Start with the woodwork,” Mom ordered. They marched up the porch steps, and the front door swung open before anyone could knock. Andrew stood there holding a thick folder, with two uniformed officers beside him. “Before anyone lifts a box,” he said, “there is something you need to hear.”
