He tossed a folded eviction notice onto the table.
I would be ready for him.
“Pack your bags, old woman. As the eldest son, the estate reverts to me. I’ve filed my claim, and this suite belongs to the family now.”
I did not move.
Beside me, Mr. Vance opened his briefcase.
Evelyn stepped forward from the balcony.
“Sit down, Gregory,” she said quietly.
“Pack your bags, old woman.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
I slid the deed across the polished table toward him.
“I think you should read this before you say another word.”
Gregory snatched the papers.
His eyes raced across the lines, and the color drained from his face.
“This is fake. Father would never.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“Your father owned this entire facility,” Mr. Vance replied. “His widow is the sole owner now. Your claim is worthless.”
“You manipulated a dying man,” Gregory snapped, pointing at me.
“No,” Evelyn said. “I helped him. I signed the transfer myself, in front of witnesses. He knew exactly what you planned to do with the state wing.”
Gregory turned on his sister, his voice cracking with rage.
“You manipulated a dying man,”
“You went behind my back.”
“Someone had to,” she answered.
Mr. Vance closed his briefcase with a soft click.
“There is nothing left for you here.”
Gregory looked at the lawyers who now shifted uncomfortably.
“You’ll regret this,” he muttered.
“You went behind my back.”
“I doubt it,” I said.
He left without another word.
***
Weeks later, I stood by the courtyard window, watching workers repair the crumbling state wing.
Warm light finally reached the rooms where I once shivered.
“Arthur,” I whispered, “your dream is safe now.”
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