Chương 4
“Technically, anyone can type a legal description.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
“I know.”
Michael sighed.
“The formatting suggests someone familiar with real estate work.”
Greg worked in finance.
Greg had friends who were lawyers.
Greg had once spent half a dinner explaining tax advantages I had not asked about.
None of that proved anything.
It did not need to.
Not yet.
“Do nothing with the stone house,” Michael said.
“Do not change locks until I send formal instructions.”
“Ben already refused.”
“Good.”
Michael continued.
“And do not enter into any confrontation about ownership.”
“He’s at my gate.”
“Then let him remain at your gate.”
A pounding sound came from somewhere outside.
Ben walked to the window.
“He’s at the service door now.”
“I heard that,” Michael said.
“Is Samantha with him?”
Ben squinted.
“No.”
“Just Greg,” I said.
“Do not let him in.”
The pounding came again.
“Andrea!”
Greg’s voice carried through the mudroom.
Ben glanced at me.
I held up one finger.
“Michael, can I cancel permission for the wedding to use the property?”
“Yes.”
“Even this close?”
“You may owe damages depending on contracts and reliance, but the permission itself was informal and revocable.”
“I’m willing to pay what I legally owe.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“But don’t destroy property, interfere with vendor-owned equipment, or make public accusations.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Today has surprised me already.”
Despite everything, I smiled faintly.
“Call me as soon as you know who prepared the revision.”
We hung up.
The knocking turned into a sustained pounding.
“ANDREA!”
Ben winced.
“He seems relaxed.”
I set the phone down.
“Open the inside door.”
Ben looked at me.
“Seriously?”
“Leave the screen door locked.”
He considered this, then nodded.
The mudroom had an old wooden door opening onto a screened porch.
Ben unlocked the wooden door but left the heavier exterior screen secured.
Greg stood six feet away in a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
His face was red from heat or anger.
Probably both.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He did not say hello.
I stepped into the mudroom.
“What do you need?”
“What do I need?”
He laughed once.
“We have a wedding in forty-eight hours.”
“You do.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means exactly what I said.”
His hand went to the screen-door handle.
Ben stepped closer.
“Don’t pull on that.”
Greg looked at him.
“Stay out of this.”
Ben’s face remained neutral.
“You’re pulling on my employer’s locked door.”
“This is family business.”
“Then stop trying to enter through the employee side.”
Greg looked at me again.
“This is unbelievable.”
“I agree.”
“You canceled payments.”
“Yes.”
“You blocked vendors from entering.”
“Yes.”
“You changed the gate code.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
There was such genuine indignation in his voice that I almost admired it.
“Samantha told me I was not invited to the wedding.”
His jaw tightened.
“That is not what happened.”
“She told me you didn’t want me there.”
“I said I thought some distance would reduce tension.”
“What tension?”
“My family is uncomfortable around you.”
The answer came too quickly.
I folded my arms.
“Why?”
Greg looked past me into the kitchen, as though the correct response might be written somewhere on the cabinets.
“You have a way of making everything about yourself.”
Ben made a sound suspiciously like a cough.
Greg ignored him.
“This weekend is supposed to be about Samantha.”
“I agree.”
“Then why sabotage it?”
“I stopped paying for an event I was told not to attend.”
“That is sabotage.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“That is a consequence.”
His expression shifted.
For the first time, anger gave way to calculation.
“You promised Samantha this wedding.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t pull it away two days before.”
“I already did.”
“You’ll humiliate her.”
The words struck exactly where he intended.
He saw it.
Of course he saw it.
People like Greg did not need to invent your weaknesses when you had spent years showing them openly.
My daughter’s embarrassment had always been easier for me to endure than my own.
School fundraisers.
Failed auditions.
A broken engagement at twenty-six.
The bankruptcy of the little design business she started with a college friend.
Each time, I had stepped in quietly.
Paid something.
Fixed something.
Called someone.
Removed a consequence before it had time to teach her anything.
Greg leaned closer to the screen.
“You know how she gets.”
Ben shifted beside me.
I did not look at him.
“What do you mean?”
“You know.”
“No.”
Greg’s mouth tightened.
“She’ll fall apart.”
The phrase made me angry in a different way.
Not because it was entirely false.
Samantha had always been emotional under pressure.
But Greg said it like a diagnosis.
Like a useful defect.
“She is thirty-four years old.”
“She’s under enormous stress.”
“So am I.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t your wedding.”
There it was again.
I stepped closer to the door.
“No, Greg.”
“It isn’t.”
“The wedding may be yours.”
I pointed past him toward the vineyard.
“But this is mine.”
He stared at me.
Then he laughed again, quieter this time.
“Is that what this is really about?”
“What?”
“Control.”
Ben looked away toward the yard.
I felt heat crawl up my neck.
Greg saw that too.
“You gave Samantha the house, and now you can’t stand that she has something you can’t supervise.”
“Interesting.”
“Come on.”
He spread his hands.
“You’ve been controlling her entire life.”
The accusation landed harder than I expected.
Not because I believed his version.
Because part of it was true.
I had paid Samantha’s rent when she changed careers.
I had covered medical insurance when she went freelance.
I had lent her money I never asked to have returned.
I had arranged jobs through friends.
When she cried, I solved.
When she failed, I softened the ground.
When she drifted, I built another bridge.
May you like
Love and control could wear each other’s clothes if you were not careful.
Greg watched my face and smiled slightly.
