Ethan’s footsteps hurried after me. “Dad, where are you going? We need to finalize the timeline for the contractors. Ashley wants the kitchen gutted by Monday.”

I didn’t answer. I stepped into the dark, oak-paneled study and flicked on the brass desk lamp. The room smelled of old paper and leather — the one room in the house Ashley hadn’t dared touch yet.

Behind the heavy mahogany desk, hidden behind an ugly flea-market oil painting of a ship, was a wall safe.

“Dad, come on, let’s talk about this like adults,” Ethan said from the doorway, looking a little less confident as I spun the dial.

Click. Click. Clack. The heavy door swung open.

“You think you know exactly how the world works, Ethan,” I said, reaching into the dark cavity. My hand bypassed the envelope with the deed. It bypassed the living wills.