Sat at my kitchen table.
And made a decision.
At exactly 8:06 a.m., I called my attorney.
At 8:23, I contacted the financial manager handling Redwood Capital Holdings.
At 9:10, the River Oaks property was listed privately to an investor who had pursued it unsuccessfully for nearly two years.
By 10:40, we had an accepted offer.
Cash.
No delays.
No negotiations.
At 11:49, I signed the final documents.
Legally, the house no longer belonged to Redwood Capital.
Which meant Brandon no longer lived in a home protected by me.
Funny how quickly “ownership” disappears when your name was never attached in the first place.
At exactly 12:17, my phone rang.
Brandon.
I stared at the screen for a moment before answering.
“What did you do?” he shouted immediately.
No greeting.
No apology.
Just panic.
I leaned back calmly in my chair.
“What are you talking about?”
“There are people at the house!”
“Yes,” I said. “The new owners.”
Silence.
Then laughter.
Disbelieving. Nervous. Angry.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The house has been sold.”
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Then came the change in his voice.
Fear.
“You can’t sell my house.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I replied calmly.
“It was never your house.”
I heard Amber yelling something in the background.
Papers rustling.
Doors slamming.
Then Brandon spoke again, quieter now.
