“What is this, Emily? A stunt?” he hissed, lowering his voice. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Leave.”

“Actually,” Mr. Meyers said, stepping forward with his briefcase. He didn’t lower his voice at all.

“She’s doing you a courtesy, allowing you to gather your personal effects before the locks are changed.”

Daniel blinked. “What are you talking about? This is my house.”

“It has never been your house, Daniel,” I said softly, but the words carried.

“Your company never bought it. Your mother didn’t gift it to you. My Aunt Margaret bought it, through the Whitmore Trust, before we were even married. She let you believe you were the man of the house so she could see what kind of man you actually were.”