Adrian laughed out loud. “Leave? This is my house.” I slid my phone across the marble island and tapped the screen. A property record filled it, showing the deed in the name of Camille Hale Trust, purchased six years before our wedding. Georgina stopped taping. Selena’s smile slipped, and her hand tightened on my mug. “Adrian,” she whispered, “you told me this was yours.”

Adrian’s face went gray. “That deed is a technicality,” he snapped. I took a calm breath. “The transfer I made yesterday was not a gift. It was a loan, and you signed the note at 8:30 last night, the one you called a receipt.” Then the doorbell rang twice. Through the glass, I saw two men in dark suits and a uniformed deputy holding a folder.