My stepmother called just as the day was folding into evening, her voice dripping with a satisfaction so sharp I could almost see the smile stretching across her face. She told me, with deliberate precision, that I would never set foot in the family beach house again—that every lock had already been changed.

Diana stepped down one porch stair, face pale with controlled rage. “Thomas will fix this.”

Evelyn’s expression barely changed. “Perhaps. But he will need to do so through counsel, and I would advise that counsel to explain to him the difference between marital assumptions and recorded ownership.”

Then she reached into her folder again and produced another document.

“In the meantime,” she said, “I have an emergency order signed this morning granting my client exclusive access pending a hearing, based on the false trespass report and the unauthorized lock change. So here is what will happen next. The locksmith will restore access. Ms. Hale will enter her property. And you, Diana, will leave.”

Madeline made a choking sound. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am consistently serious,” Evelyn said.

It was one of the most Evelyn sentences I had ever heard, and despite the tension winding through my body, I nearly smiled.

Diana planted herself on the porch. “I am not leaving.”

The older officer looked tired already. “Ma’am, don’t make this worse than it needs to be.”