On the top line, Arthur had written in thick blue ink that Julian was granted full access to the house to conduct business.

His signature at the bottom was heavy and dug deep into the paper.

“Arthur doesn’t own one square foot of this property,” I said.

“He’s the head of this family,” Julian said, his voice sliding into a persuasive tone.

“And he’s looking out for everyone’s financial health.”

“Get these trucks off my driveway,” I said.

Julian took a slow sip from his mug.

“Talk to your father, Eleanor.