“If it came from a fraudulent conveyance, it is absolutely my business.”
Dad stepped in. “Watch your tone.”
I met his eyes. “No.”
The room changed.
Mom tried again, softer. “We saved your credit. We got you out from under that mortgage.”
“There was no mortgage.”
She faltered.
I turned to Brent. “You should call your attorney before you try recording anything.”
He straightened. “I was told—”
“You were told a lie. If you cloud title on this parcel, I’ll come after you, your company, and anyone reckless enough to insure you.”
He swallowed. His cheap flip had just turned into exposure.
“This sounds like a family matter,” he muttered.
“No,” I said. “It’s a fraud matter.”
My mother’s voice sharpened. “Savannah was drowning!”
“She was spending,” I said.
Dad scoffed. “You came here for a speech.”
I stood. “No. I came here for a boundary.”
Mom laughed once. “Boundary? Don’t start with therapy language.”