“I’m not asking you to believe me because I’m your daughter,” I said. “I’m asking you to let me verify the facts.”
His hands trembled as he sat down. “How?”
“I have an attorney I trust,” I said. “Not one of your buddies from the club. Someone who doesn’t owe Victoria a smile at a gala.”
He blinked at that, and I saw the shame. The realization that our social circle was a net Victoria had been weaving for years.
Outside, I heard Victoria’s voice rise. “Paige, bring the bags!”
Then the sound of my front door handle rattling.
I stood. “Stay here,” I told my father.
I walked to the foyer and opened the door myself.
Victoria was on the porch, lips pressed tight. Paige stood behind her with a suitcase, eyes narrowed like she’d finally decided I was the villain in her story.
“Bonnie,” Victoria said, each syllable measured, “this is ridiculous. Let us in.”
I leaned against the doorframe. “No.”
Her smile returned, thin as paper. “You don’t get to say no.”
I took another sip of coffee. “Actually, I do. This house is titled solely in my name. You’re trespassing.”
Her eyes flashed. “Gerald is your father. He has rights.”