Just like that, the house Evan had spent years calling “the family home” belonged to Gordon and Helen Prescott. The sale proceeds went into accounts in my name alone, and by sunset I was already driving toward a smaller town three hours away, where I had rented a furnished cottage for six months while deciding what came next. I left one envelope taped inside the storm door.
The cruise returned the following afternoon. Evan called seventeen times before I finally listened to one voicemail. His key no longer worked, Courtney’s belongings were gone, and Gordon had answered the door when they started pounding. Inside my envelope was the storage-unit address, a copy of the sale notice, and one sentence: “The new owner is Gordon Prescott. Please discuss any future plans for his property with him.”
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