Chapter 10 - DO I EVEN WANT THE HOUSE?
For months, I treated the house like proof.
Mine.
Not theirs.
Evidence of fraud.
Evidence of history.
Then Maya—no, Dana—asked the better question.
“Do you actually want to live there again?”
I pictured the porch.
The column.
The gravel.
Julian barefoot.
Eleanor pointing at my face.
The suitcase.
No.
The answer surprised me.
I did not want the house.
I wanted choice.
Different.
Ownership does not require attachment.
So we explored sale.
Eleanor panicked.
Of course.
If sold on open market, the Collins fantasy of “getting the family home back” ended permanently.
Julian surprisingly supported sale.
He said:
“The house ruined us.”
I corrected:
“No. Your choices ruined us.”
He nodded.
Good.
Then:
“But selling might help everyone stop pretending the building is a person.”
That was insightful.
The court allowed sale under protective conditions.
Independent appraisal.
No family buyer.
No hidden entity.
The house sold for $1.4 million.
Mortgage paid.
Fraudulent liens contested.
Net proceeds protected.
Eleanor watched strangers take possession.
That was consequence.
Not revenge.
A house is property.
Not bloodline.
Then the neighboring parcel purchased with stolen loan money was sold too.
Funds clawed back.
The financial scheme began unwinding.
But criminal trial remained.
Eleanor refused plea.
Julian accepted one.
Melissa accepted one.
They would testify.
Mother versus son.
Cousin versus aunt.
Family loyalty finally collapsed under law.
Then Eleanor said through counsel:
“If Audrey testifies, I will expose what her father did.”
Thomas went still.
I looked at him.
“What did you do?”
He did not answer immediately.
That frightened me.
Finally:
“I helped your mother hide money during Westbridge.”
My chest tightened.
May you like
Not again.
Another family secret.
