"If you can't make it happen, I won't just refuse to sign—I might call the cops. See if they're interested in whoever broke into my car..."
The living room went dead silent.
A full minute passed.
Then Mrs. Lambert grabbed Ryan's arm and hauled him toward the balcony corner.
"...loan sharks... your cousin knows someone... handle it first... once we get the five million... we'll make it all back..."
I couldn't catch everything, but enough fragments drifted over.
I smiled to myself.
Cornered dogs really do jump walls.
After a while, they came back.
Ryan looked like he'd aged ten years, but his eyes held a reckless, all-in kind of resolve.
"Fine." His voice was hollow. "I agree. The house is yours. The car money, the $200,000—I'll... I'll figure it out by tomorrow. We sign. We divorce."
"You're sure?"
I held his gaze.
"Once you sign, there's no taking it back. The bottle's yours. Everything else—including whatever debts you might rack up—has nothing to do with me."
"I've thought it through."
Mrs. Lambert rushed to answer, as if afraid her son might back out.
"Hurry up and sign! After this, you won't have the slightest thing to do with the Lyons family anymore!"