NEXT CHAPTER: The Plate by the Toolbox

I turned my phone facedown before Tyler could see Grace's name.

"Work," I said.

Tyler leaned against the doorway. He was thirty-six, two years younger than me, and had somehow turned unemployment into a full-time position with benefits paid by his sister.

"At ten at night?"

"The plant runs all night."

He wrinkled his nose theatrically. "Yeah. We can tell."

Behind him, Jenna laughed without looking up from her phone.

I held his gaze.

Tyler's smile thinned first.

"Mom says you can sleep in the garage," he said. "Just for tonight. Don't make this dramatic."

"She changed the locks."

"Because Mason has asthma."

His ten-year-old son did have asthma. He also hugged me every morning before school and had never once reacted to my clean work clothes. I followed the plant's decontamination protocol so carefully I could have eaten dinner in a surgical suite.

"That's not how exposure works," I said.

Tyler shrugged. "I'm not a scientist."

"Neither is Mom."

"She's trying to protect her family."

The sentence landed with perfect clarity.

Her family.

I was apparently the utility company with a pulse.

"Good night, Tyler."

He stepped back inside and locked the door again.

I waited until the kitchen light went dark, then walked two blocks in the rain to my car. I had started parking on the street after Tyler filled the driveway with his truck, Jenna's SUV, Dad's van, and a jet ski nobody could afford.

Grace was still on the line when I got in.

"Are you safe?" she asked.

"I'm sitting in my car. Tell me about the loan."

"First Commonwealth received a preliminary home-equity application for one hundred eighty-five thousand dollars. The title company saw the inquiry during its final lien check."

My hand tightened around the steering wheel.

"I didn't apply for a HELOC."

"I know."

"Can someone do that without me?"

"Not legally."

There was something in her tone.

"Grace."

"The applicant listed you as borrower. Tyler as authorized property manager."

The rain hammered the windshield.

"Authorized by what?"

"A power of attorney."

I laughed once because the alternative was screaming.

"I never gave Tyler power of attorney."

"I know that too."

Grace had represented me through the foreclosure rescue. She knew every signature that mattered.

"Was it funded?"

"No. The lender flagged inconsistencies and requested direct verification. But the application exists, and someone attached a notarized document that claims you gave your mother financial authority over the house six months ago."

Six months ago, I had been working eighty-hour weeks during a plant expansion. Mom had volunteered to "handle the mail" because I was exhausted.

I felt sick.

"Send it to me."

"Already did. Do not confront them tonight. Come to my office at seven tomorrow morning. We document everything, freeze what we can, and decide whether the Saturday sale still makes sense."

"It makes more sense now."

"Claire—"

"Send the acceptance."

Grace went quiet.

"The buyer is an investment company," she said. "They understand the house is occupied. The contract gives the occupants thirty days after closing under a written transition agreement. Nobody gets thrown onto the curb Saturday."

"Good."

"Once I send this, you're committed subject to title and closing conditions."

I stared at the house at the end of the block. Every window glowed warm. My money had replaced those windows two winters ago.

"Send it."

Grace exhaled. "All right."

A moment later my phone chimed.

Offer accepted electronically.

I should have felt powerful.

Instead, I felt tired.

Then headlights swept across my rearview mirror.

Tyler's truck pulled up behind me.

He got out, walked to my driver's-side window, and tapped the glass with one knuckle.