Chapter 5 - THE HOUSE WAS NOT FOR GERTRUDE
By noon the next day, I knew the architect’s name.
Nathan Cross.
Reputable.
Expensive.
Confused when my attorney contacted him.
He had been told I was fully aware of the project.
That got my attention.
The proposed project was not a retirement cottage for Gertrude.
It was a 7,800-square-foot custom home in an exclusive development outside Houston.
Six bedrooms.
Pool.
Guest suite.
Two offices.
Separate living quarters designed for an older relative.
I stared at the summary my attorney placed in front of me.
“This is a house for all of them.”
She nodded.
My lawyer, Rebecca Sloan, had represented my company for eight years.
She rarely looked surprised.
That day she did.
“Who is listed as the client?”
“Brandon.”
“Owner?”
“An LLC.”
“What LLC?”
“Harper Family Living.”
Harper was Gertrude’s maiden name.
“Who owns it?”
“We’re finding out.”
My stomach turned.
“And they planned to use my money?”
“We know some design expenses already came from your account.”
“What about construction?”
“Not clear.”
Then Rebecca showed me an email the architect voluntarily provided after learning there was a dispute.
Brandon had written:
Charlotte handles funding. Once the deposit clears, we’ll transition the rest through the family structure.
I read it twice.
“Handles funding.”
Not approved.
Not agreed.
Handles.
As though I were the plumbing.
Rebecca leaned back.
“Did Brandon ever discuss selling your current home?”
“No.”
“Refinancing?”
“No.”
“Taking a loan against it?”
My skin went cold.
“No.”
Our Houston home had been mine before the marriage.
I bought it when Skylar was three.
Brandon contributed to improvements after we married, but title remained in my name because my original purchase predated him and my attorney had advised us to keep the ownership clean.
Brandon used to say he did not care.
Apparently, he had started caring.
Rebecca continued.
“We found a recent property valuation request.”
“On my house?”
“Yes.”
“Who ordered it?”
“Still checking.”
I thought about Gertrude at dinner.
Then she can learn.
The seafood.
The noodles.
The architect.
The cards.
Suddenly, the cruelty toward Skylar made emotional sense in a way I hated.
Gertrude had begun thinking of my assets as family resources.
May you like
And if my daughter stood between her son and those resources someday, Skylar was no longer a child to her.
She was competition.
