Autumn sunlight poured through the stained glass above the staircase. Maple leaves outside had begun turning red and gold.
I was standing in the front parlor with Grant when a black corporate sedan pulled up.
Meredith stepped out with a laptop bag, wearing the brittle confidence of someone trying not to fall apart.
She entered the house, looked at the polished banister, the wallpaper she once wanted destroyed, and Grandma Rose’s portrait above the entry table.
Then she saw me beside her CEO.
“No,” she whispered.
Grant turned calmly.
“Meredith. Right on time. As discussed with HR, your permanent reassignment is to manage this neighborhood preservation office. You will report here daily at 8:00 a.m., handle scheduling, filing, and administrative work under direct oversight.”
Meredith looked at the desk in the corner.
Then at me.
“You sold it to them?” she hissed. “You sold out the family just to spite me?”
I smiled.
“No, Meredith. I leased a few rooms. I still own every brick of the house you tried to steal.”
That was when she understood.
The house was mine.
The office she had been demoted to manage was inside my home.