Natalie swallowed. “When will this be finalized.”
“In five days,” he said. “Once probate closes, everything transfers to your name. No one else has any claim.”
That evening Brandon sent a message.
“Hurry up and sign tomorrow. Stop stalling.”
Natalie stared at the phone and replied.
“I will sign.”
Not from fear. From calculation. The next day in the courthouse, she had signed away a marriage that had already died. She walked out appearing penniless, unprotected, defeated. Exactly how Brandon expected her to be.
Five days later, Attorney Pricewell called.
“Ms. Foster. The estate is closed. The properties, accounts, and shares are officially yours.”
Natalie closed her eyes and exhaled. That night she ordered takeout, sat on the floor of her tiny apartment, and opened a notebook. On the first page she wrote one word. Freedom.
The next morning she traveled back to Cedar Bay. She toured the manufacturing company that employed eighty workers. A middle aged supervisor greeted her with surprise and warmth.
“Your aunt visited every month,” the supervisor said. “She always asked about you. She said one day you might need a door that opens.”