The place Julian had walked through believing the house, company, and woman inside it existed because of him.
“No.”
The manager walked away.
Arthur closed his folder.
“Then we’re finished.”
I looked at the house.
“Not finished. Transferred.”
He waited until the manager was out of earshot.
“You kept the house.”
“Sterling kept the house.”
“That distinction matters?”
“Yes.”
Because the house was not my divorce trophy.
It was not proof that I had beaten Julian.
It belonged on Sterling’s asset register.
That was where the record put it.
I handed Arthur a spare card he had left on the SUV.
“Arthur.”