I kept reading.
*"David used your name on every complaint he filed.
He used your address.
He made sure every document looked like it came from you, because he knew I would blame you.
He knew I would fight with you.
He knew we would become enemies.
And while we were busy destroying each other, he was waiting for me to get tired enough to sell."*
I stopped reading.
The paper was trembling in my hands.
"You filed those complaints?" I asked David.
His face didn't change.
"That man was living in a house worth four hundred thousand dollars and letting it rot.
He didn't deserve—"
"You filed those complaints in my name?"
David's mouth opened, then closed.
He looked at Mr.
Higgins, then at the desk, then at the floor.
"It wasn't like that," he said.
"Then what was it like?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
I kept reading.
*"The condition is simple, Linda.
You must agree to never sell this property to David Garrett, or to any person, company, or entity connected to him.
If you agree, the house is yours.
Free and clear.
If you refuse, the property goes to the county library foundation, and you receive nothing."*
I lowered the letter.
"That's it?
That's the condition?"
Mr.
Higgins nodded.
"That's the condition."
David stood up.
"You can't be serious.
She's my wife.
That house would be—"
"She is not your property, Mr.
Garrett," Mr.
Higgins said.
"And neither is Mr.
Sloan's."
David's voice dropped.
"Linda, if you sign this, you're choosing a d*ad man over your own husband."
I looked at him.
"A d*ad man who just told me the truth.
