Later that morning, my phone range. It was Stella Wright from Lone Star Holdings.
“We’ve looked at the title,” he said, coldly and seriously. “It’s clean. We are ready to continue. The contract is in your inbox. 980,000 dollars in cash. The closing date is set for Friday the 14th.”
“Excellent.”
“Just to reiterate, Miss Bennett, we bought this as an investment tool. The moment the funds are transferred, our security team takes control of the asset. We do not tolerate intrusions. Are you sure the occupants will leave?”
“They will go out to Italy in forty-eight hours,” I confirmed. “The house will be empty.”
“Perfect. Sign the documents and we’ll be ready to start.”
After hanging up, I sat on my desk. 980,000 dollars. In addition to my savings, I would have had almost a million dollars. Enough to disappear. Enough to start over.
But I had to get them on that plane first.
The next two days were a masterpiece of disappointment. I played the submissive daughter perfectly. I improved your flights to business class. I booked the five-star hotel overlooking the vineyards. I transferred 3,000 dollars to Mom’s bank account. I even helped Dad prepare the golf clubs – I wanted to bring them “to make contacts” – but Mom objected to the baggage fees.
“He leaves the clubs at home, Arthur,” he had ordered. “We go to the wine region, not St. Andrews.”
My father forgot to hang up and I heard, “It’s so dumb that it lets us stay,” so I booked his dream trip to Italy, sold my 980,000 home
