The man at my door was not a neighbor. He wore a gray suit and held a thin folder against his chest, and behind him a white sedan idled at the curb with Voss Realty printed on the door. “Mrs. Hale?” he asked. “I am Calvin Reyes, the listing agent for the house on Briar Lane. I believe your daughter-in-law has told my clients something about you that is not true.”

He opened the folder and slid out a signed purchase agreement. At the bottom sat Brittany’s signature, and beneath it a second line that read: Seller of 218 Willow Street, Marjorie Hale, consents. My name was typed there, though I had never signed anything. “Closing is in nine days,” Calvin said quietly. “And your son has already wired twenty thousand dollars in earnest money.” Behind me, I heard Derek’s truck pull into the driveway.