Daniel cut in. “Nobody said the house wasn’t yours. You’re twisting everything because you’re upset.”
“You were in my office a week ago going through my property records,” I said. “You were holding the probate file my father’s lawyer gave me, and when I asked what you were doing, you said your mother thought it was time to put the house in both our names. I didn’t imagine that. I caught you.”
Someone under his breath muttered, “Damn.” Daniel started speaking too fast after that, piling words together the way guilty people do when they think speed can replace logic. He talked about trust, marriage, the future, shared things. It might almost have sounded convincing if he had not been standing outside a gate he expected to open with a copied remote.
Then Helena made the mistake that split the performance open.
“A wife doesn’t hide property from her husband,” she snapped. “Not when he has the right to build something with it.”
A right. Not a hope. Not a discussion. A right.