Colin pulled into the driveway three days later with Tessa in the passenger seat and a baby carrier in the back, grinning like a man arriving at his own coronation. He slid his key into the lock, and it would not turn. He tried again, then pounded on the door. I opened it slowly, wearing a gray suit, with my attorney, Ms. Okafor, standing a step behind me holding a thick folder. “Good morning, Colin,” I said. “Your key no longer works, because this house belongs to my company, and your occupancy ended this morning.”

Colin laughed, but the sound died quickly. Behind me, a stranger in a navy blazer stepped forward and held out a paper. “Mr. Hale, I am the property manager,” he said. “You have until noon to collect your personal belongings.” Tessa’s face went white, and she whispered, “Colin, you told me the house was yours.” Then Ms. Okafor opened the folder, and the first page was a bank statement bearing Pamela’s name.